THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


THE  COLLECTION  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINL^NA 

ENDO\XED  BY 

JOHN  SPRUNT  HILL 
CLASS  OF  1889 


CB 

R163L1 


mJ 


00032703245 

FOR  USE  ONLY  IN 
THE  NORTH  CAROLINA  COLLECTION 


J 


'Q.  .".  -3  00 


GREAT  ENGLISHMEN   OF  THE 
SIXTEENTH  CENTURY 


■^.  .-../«<<vYzyy  a/^  (/■/■*'yi///f^>r-  Las-d^^^ 


GEEAT  ENGLISHMEN 

OF  THE 

SIXTEENTH    CENTURY 


BY 

SIDNEY    LEE 

Lrrr.D.,  editor  of  the  '  dictionary  of  national  biography  * 

CORRESPONDING  MEMBER   OF  THE   MASSACHUSETTS   HISTORICAL  SOCIETT 
AUTHOR  OF  'a  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE,'   AND 

'queen  victoria:  a  biography' 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published,  November,  1904 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 


PREFACE 

The  contents  of  this  volume  are  based  on  a  series  of  eight 
lectures  which  I  delivered,  by  invitation  of  the  Trustee,  at 
the  Lowell  Institute,  Boston,  in  the  spring  of  last  year. 
I  paid  a  first  visit  to  America  for  the  purpose  of  fulfilling 
that  engagement.  My  reception  was  in  all  ways  of  the 
pleasantest,  and  I  feel  especially  grateful  to  my  Boston 
audience  for  the  considerate  attention  which  they  extended 
to  me. 

In  preparing  the  lectures  for  the  press  I  have  adhered 
to  the  main  lines  which  I  followed  in  their  delivery.  But 
I  have  judged  it  necessary  to  make  sweeping  alterations 
in  form  and  detail.  I  have  introduced  much  information 
which  was  scarcely  fitted  for  oral  treatment.  I  have 
endeavoured  to  present  more  coherently  and  more  exhaust- 
ively the  leading  achievements  of  the  Renaissance  in  Eng- 
land than  was  possible  in  the  time  at  the  disposal  of  a 
lecturer.  I  have  tried,  however,  to  keep  in  view  the  require- 
ments of  those  to  whom  the  lectures  were  originally 
addressed.  Though  I  have  embodied  in  my  revision  the 
fruits  of  some  original  research,  I  have  not  overloaded  my 
pages  with  recondite  references.  My  chief  aim  has  been  to 
interest  the  cultivated  reader  of  general  intelUgence  rather 
than  the  expert. 

The  opening  lecture  of  my  course  at  Boston  surveyed 
in  general  terms  the  uses  to  the  public  (alike  in  England 


55 


vi  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

and  America)  of  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography. 
Of  that  lecture  I  have  only  printed  a  small  section  in  this 
volume.  I  have  substituted  for  it,  by  way  of  introduction, 
a  sketch  of  the  intellectual  spirit  which  was  peculiar  to  the 
sixteenth  century.  This  preparatory  essay,  which  is  practi- 
cally new,  gives,  I  trust,  increased  unity  to  the  general 
handling  of  my  theme. 

The  six  men  of  whom  I  treat  are  all  obviously,  in  their 
several  ways,  representative  of  the  highest  culture  of  six- 
teenth-century England,  but  they  by  no  means  exhaust 
the  subject.  Many  other  great  Englishmen  of  the  six- 
teenth century — statesmen  like  Wolsey  and  Burghley,  the- 
ologians like  Colet  and  Hooker,  dramatists  like  Marlowe 
and  Ben  Jonson,  men  of  science  like  William  Gilbert,  the 
electrician,  and  Napier  of  Merchiston,  the  inventor  of 
logarithms — deserve  association  with  them  in  any  complete 
survey  of  sixteenth-century  culture.  In  choosing  five  of 
the  six  names,  I  was  moved  by  the  fact  that  I  had  already 
studied,  with  some  minuteness,  their  careers  and  work  in  my 
capacity  of  contributor  to  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography.  I  wrote  there  the  Hves  of  Sir  Thomas  More, 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  and  Shakespeare,  and  I  collaborated 
with  others  in  the  biographies  of  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  and 
Edmund  Spenser.  I  have  not  written  at  any  length  on 
Bacon  before;  but  it  is  obvious  that  not  the  briefest  list 
of  great  Englishmen  of  the  sixteenth  century  would  be 
worthy  of  attention  were  he  excluded  from  it.  I  hope  that, 
by  presenting  Bacon  in  juxtaposition  with  Shakespeare,  I 
may  do  something  to  dispel  the  hallucination  which  would 
confuse  the  achievements  of  the  one  with  those  of  the  other. 
Any  who  desire  to  undertake  further  study  of  the  men 
who  form  my  present  subject  may  possibly  derive  some 


PREFACE  vii 

guidance  from  the  bibliographies  prefixed  to  each  chapter. 
There  I  mention  the  chief  editions  of  the  Hterary  works 
which  I  describe  and  criticise,  and  give  references  to  biogra- 
phies of  value.  For  full  bibliographies  and  exhaustive 
summaries  of  the  biographical  facts,  the  reader  will  do  well 
to  consult,  in  each  case,  the  article  in  the  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography.  My  present  scheme  only  enables  me 
to  offer  my  readers  such  information  as  illustrates  leading 
characteristics.  I  seek  to  trace  the  course  of  a  great  intel- 
lectual movement  rather  than  attempt  detailed  biographies 
of  those  who  are  identified  with  its  progress. 

In  the  hope  of  increasing  the  usefulness  of  the  volume 
I  have  supplied  a  somewhat  full  preliminary  analysis  of  its 
contents,  as  well  as  a  chronological  table  of  leading  events 
in  European  culture  from  the  invention  of  printing  in  1477 
to  Bacon's  death  in  1626.  I  have  also  added  an  index.  In 
preparing  these  sections  of  the  book,  I  have  been  largely 
indebted  to  the  services  of  Mr.  W.  B.  Owen,  B.A.,  late 
scholar  of  St.  Catherine's  College,  Cambridge.  I  have  at 
the  same  time  to  thank  my  friend  Mr.  Thomas  Seccombe 
for  reading  the  final  proofs. 

October  1,  1904. 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


PAGE 

At  school  in  London,       .        .         .20 
In  the  service  of  Archbishop  Morton, 

1491 20 

At  Oxford,  1492 20 

The  influence  of  Oxford,  .         .     21 

A  student  of  law,  1494,  .         .         .22 
Spiritual  questionings,    ,         .         .22 


The  influence  of  Erasmus,       .        .     23 
Erasmus's  friendship  for  More,        .     25 


More's  first  marriage,  1505,     .  .    25 

His  second  marriage,  1511,      .  .     26 

Settlement  at  Chelsea,     .         .  .26 

Under-sheriff  of  London,  1510,  .     27 


First  visit  to  the  Continent,  1515,    .     27 
Social  recreation  at  Antwerp,  .     28 


First  draft  of  the  Utopia,  1516,  .    28 

Detachment  of  the  Utopia,     .  .     28 

VII 

The  First  Book  of  the  Utopia,  .     29 

The  ideal  of  the  New  World,  .     30 

The  Second  Book,            .         .  .31 

Utopian  philosophy,        .         .  .32 

Utopian  religion,     .        .        .  .32 

VIII 

Utopia  published  on  the  Continent,     33 
Contrast  between  Utopian  precepts 

and  More's  personal  practice,  .     34 

The  Utopia  a  dream  of  fancy,  .     34 


Dread  of  the  Lutheran  revolution,  35 

Court  office, 36 

More's  attitude  to  politics,      .         .  37 

His  loyalty, 38 


Rapid  preferment,  1518-1523, 


39 


PAGE 

Chancellor,  25th  October  1529,  .  39 
The  King  and  the  Reformation,      .     40 

More's  view  of  the  King's  projected 

divorce 41 

The  growth  of  Protestantism,  .     41 

More's  conscientious  scruples,  .     42 

His  resignation  of  the  Woolsack,  .  43 
His  spiritual  ambition,    .         .         .43 

XII 

More's  impaired  resources,  .  ,  44 
The  Chelsea  tomb,  .         .         .45 

His  work  as  Chancellor,  ,        ,    45 

xm 

More  and  theological  controversy,  .  47 
The  Maid  of  Kent,  1533,  .         .     48 

The  threat  of  prosecution,       .        .     50 

XIV 

The  triumph  of  Anne  Boleyn,  .  50 
The  oath  abjuring  the  Pope,  .  .  61 
More's  detention,  1534,  .  .  .51 
The  oath  of  the  Act  of  Succession,    52 

XV 

In  the  Tower,  1534,  .  .  .  53 
His  trial,  1st  July  1535,  .        .    54 

XVI 

More's  execution,  6th  July  1535,  .  56 
The  reception  abroad  of  the  news,    58 

xvu 

More's  character 58 

His  mode  of  life,     .        .        .        .58 

His  love  of  art 59 

His  Latin  writmg,  .  .  .  .69 
His  English  poetry,  .  .  .69 
His  English  prose,  .  .  .  .60 
Pico's  Life,  .  .  .  .  .60 
Controversial  theology,  .  .  .60 
His  devotional  treatises,  .         .     61 

His  literary  repute,  .         .         .61 

The  paradox  of  his  career,       .        .    62 


CONTENTS 


m 

SIR   PHILIP   SIDNEY 


PAGE 
BlBLIOGRAPHT 63 

Sidney's  rank,        .         .         .         .63 
Intellectual  ambitions,    .         .         .64 

II 
National  strife,        .         .         .         .65 
Sidney's  birth,  30th  Nov.  1554,       .     65 
Queen  Elizabeth's  accession,  1558,     66 
The  Earl  of  Leicester,     .         .         .67 


At  Shrewsbury  school,    . 

Fulke  Greville,         .         .         .         . 

At  Oxford,  1568 

Lord  Burghley's  favour, 

IV 

Foreign  travel,        .         .        .        . 
The    St.    Bartholomew    Massacre, 

23rd  August  1572, 
The  meeting  with  Languet,     . 

At  Vienna,  1573 

At  Venice,   1573-4, 

Protestant  zeal 

Diplomatic  employment. 
End  of  the  foreign  tour. 


V 

At  Kenilworth,  1576, 
Penelope  Devereux, 
'Astrophel  and  Stella,* 
Sidney's  sonnets,     '. 
Their  influence, 


Political  ambitions. 

At   Heidelberg  and  Vienna,   1577, 

At  Antwerp, 


Varied  occupations. 


85 


PAGE 

Friendship  with  Spenser,         .        .     86 
The  literary  club  of     'The  Areo- 
pagus,'  1579,       .         .         .         .86 
Intercourse  with  Bruno,  1584,         .     88 


Sidney  and  the  Drama,  .        .    89 

The  Apologie  for  Poetrie,  .         .     91 

The  worth  of  poetry,  .  .  .92 
Confusion  between  poetry  and  prose,  93 
Enlightened  conclusions,         .        .     94 


Difficulties  at  Court,        .  .  .95 

In  retirement,          .         .  .  .96 

The  Arcadia,            .         .  .  .97 

Its  foreign  models,           .  .  .97 

The  verse  of  the  Arcadia,  .  .  102 

The  prose  style 103 

Want  of  coherence,          .  .  .  103 


Reconciliation  with  the  Queen,  .  103 
Official  promotion,  .         .         .  104 

His  knighthood,  1583,  .  .  .104 
Joint-Master  of  the  Ordnance,  1585,  105 
Marriage,  1585,  .  .  .  .105 
The  call  of  the  New  World,  .  .  106 
Grant  to  Sidney  of  land  in  America,  107 


XI 

The  last  scene 108 

Hostility  to  Spain,  1585,  .         .  108 

Governor  of  Flushing,  1586,  .  .  109 
Difficulties  of  the  Dutch  campaign,  110 
The  attack  on  Zutphen,  1586,  .110 

Sidney's  death,  17th  Oct.  1586,       .  Ill 

XII 

Sidney's  career,  .  .  .  .112 
His  literary  work,  .  .  .  .113 
Influence  of  the  Arcadia,  .  .114 
The  impression  of  his  life  and  work,  115 


xu 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


IV 

SIR   WALTER   RALEGH 


Bibliography, 


PAGE 

.  116 


Primary  cause  of  colonial  expan- 
sion,      116 

Three  secondary  causes,  .         .116 


Great  colonising  epochs,          .  .118 

Columbus'  discovery,  1492,     .  .  118 

England  and  the  New  World,  .  119 

America  and  new  ideals,          .  .  120 

The  spirit  of  adventure,           .  .  120 

Imaginary  age  of  Gold,  .         .  .121 

Moral  ideals 122 

III 


satility,    . 

.  123 

Sir  Francis  Drake,  . 

.  123 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert,    . 

.  123 

Ralegh's  birth,  1552, 

.  124 

Infancy  and  Education, 

.  124 

IV 

The  rivalry  with  Spain,  . 

.   124 

Spain  and  Holland, 

.   125 

Ralegh  in  France,  1569,   . 

.   125 

His  first  conflict  with  Spain, 

.   125 

In  Ireland,  1580,     . 

.   126 

V 

Ralegh  and  Queen  Elizabeth, 

1581,   128 

His  relations  v/ith  Virginia, 

.   130 

The  potato  and  tobacco. 

.   130 

Captain  John  Smith  in  Virginia, 
Colonial  philosophy  of  the  time. 


The  Spanish  Armada,  1588, 
Intellectual  pursuits, 
Ralegh's  poetry. 
Meetings  at  the  'Mermaid,' 


PAGE 
.  131 
.   131 


133 
134 
134 
136 


El  Dorado, 

The  Expedition  to  Guiana, 


IX 

Ralegh  and  Court  factions. 
The  accession  of  James  i.,  1603, 
Charges  of  treason. 
Sentence  of  death,  1603, 


In  the  Tower, 
Scientific  curiosity. 
The  History  of  the  World, 
Character  of  the  work,    . 


137 
137 


142 
143 
143 
144 


145 
145 
145 
146 


Hopes  of  freedom,  .         .         .  148 

The   projected    return   to    Guiana, 

1616, 148 

Failure  of  the  expedition,        .         .  150 
Disgrace  and  death,  29th.Oct.  1618,  150 


Contemporary  estimate  of  Ralegh,  152 
His  failure  and  success,            .         .  153 
The  true  founder  of  American  col- 
onisation   153 


EDMUND   SPENSER 


Bibliography, 


PAGE 

.  155 


The  Elizabethan  pursuit  of  poetry,  155 
The  contrast  between  Spenser's  ca- 
reer and  his  poetic  zeal,      .         .  157 


His  humble  birth,  1552, 

At  Merchant  Taylors'  School, 

At  Cambridge, 

Gabriel  Harvey, 

Early  verse,  1568,  . 


PAGE 

.  158 
.  159 
.  160 
.  161 
.  161 


CONTENTS 


xui 


in  PAGE 

Disappointment  in  love,  .         .  162 

Settlement  in  London,  1578,  .         .  163 

The  patronage  of  Leicester,     .         .  163 

Sir  Philip  Sidney 165 

The  classical  fallacy,        .        .         .  165 

Poetic  experiments,         .         .        .  166 

IV 

Tfie  Shepheards  Calender,  1579,      .167 

Its  foreign  models 167 

Eulogy  of  Chaucer,  .         .         •  168 

The  critical  apparatus,    .         .         .  169 
Place  of  the  poem  in  English  poetry,  171 


Official  promotion,  1580,  .  .  173 

Migration  to  Ireland,       .  .  .  173 

The  Irish  problem,  .  .  .173 

Early  friends  in  Ireland,  .  .174 

Spenser's  poetic  exertions,  .  .  175 

VI 

Removal  to  the  south  of  Ireland, 

1588 176 

Quarrels  with  neighbours,        .         .  176 
Sir  Walter  Ralegh,  .         .         .177 

London  revisited,  1589,  .         .  178 

The  Fame  Queene,  books  i.-iii.,         .  179 


The  grant  of  a  pension,  .  .  180 
The  return  to  Ireland,  1597,  .  .181 
His  despair  of  his  fortunes,  .  .  181 
Complaints,  1590 182 


Vni  PAGE 

The  poet's  marriage,  1594,      .  .  183 

His  Amoretti,  1595,          .         .  .183 

The  Epithalamion,  1595,          .  .  185 
The  Faerie  Queene  continued,  1596,   186 

Political  difficulties,         .         .  .187 

The  Earl  of  Essex's  patronage,  .  187 

The  prose  tract  on  Ireland,  1597,  .  188 


IX 

Sheriff  of  Cork,  1598,  .  .  .190 
Ireland  in  rebellion,  .  .  .191 
Last  mission  to  London,  1598,  .  192 
His  death,  16th  January  1599,  .  192 
The  tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey,  .  194 


Spenser's  greatness. 

.  195 

The  Faerie  Queene, 

.  195 

The  amplitude  of  scale. 

.  195 

The  moral  aim. 

.  197 

The  debt  to  Plato,  . 

.  198 

Affinities  with  chivahric  r 

omance,    .  200 

Want  of  homogeneity. 

.  201 

The  allegory,  . 

.  202 

Bunyan's  superiority 

.  202 

Influence  of  the  age. 

.  203 

The  Spenserian  stanza. 

.  207 

The  vocabulary. 

.  209 

The  debt  to  Chaucer, 

.  209 

Sensitiveness  to  beauty. 

.  210 

Spenser's  influence. 

.  212 

VI 

FRANCIS   BACON 


BlBLIOGBAPHT, 


PAGE 

.  214 


Bacon's  and  Shakespeare's  distinct 
individualities 215 


n 

Bacon's  parents. 
Birth,  Jan.  22,  1561, 
Education, 


216 
217 
217 


ni  PAGE 

The  profession  of  law,     .         .         .  218 
Bacon's  idealism,    ....  218 

His  materialism 219 

His  entrance  into  politics,        .         .  219 
His  scheme  of  life 220 

IV 

Bacon's  relations  with  Essex,  .  222 

The  government  of  Ireland,    .  .  223 

Downfall  of  Essex,  1601,         .  .  224 


XIV 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


PAGE 

Essex's  death,  25th  Feb.,  1601,        .  224 
Bacon's  perfidy,      ....  225 


Bacon  and  James  i.,  .  .  .  225 
Advice  to  the  King,  .  .  .226 
The  political  situation,    .         .         .  226 


Literary  occupations,      .         .  .  227 

Marriage,  1606,        .         .         .  .229 

Bacon's  first  promotion,  1607,  .  230 

Attorney-General,  1613,  .  .  230 

VII 

The  political  perU,  .         .         .230 

Bacon  and  Buckingham,  .         .  231 

Lord  Keeper,  1617,  .         .         .231 

Lord  Verulam,  1618,  and  Viscount 

Alban,  1621 231 

His  judical  work 232 


The  Novum  Organum,  1620,  .  .  233 
Thechargeof  corruption,  1621,  .234 
Bacon's  collapse,  ....  234 
His  punishment  and  his  retirement,  235 
His  literary  and  scientific  occupa- 
tion  235 


His  death,  April  9,  1626, 
His  neglect  of  morality. 
His  want  of  savoir  faire. 


.  236 
.  239 
.  239 


X  PAGE 

His  true  greatness,  .         .         .  240 

His  literary  versatility,  .  .  .  240 
His  contempt  for  the  English  tongue  241 

His  Essays, 241 

His  majestic  style,  .  .  .  242 
His  verse 243 

XI 

His  philosophic  works,  .  .  .  245 
His  attitude  to  science,  .  ,  .  245 
His  opposition  to  Aristotle,  .  .  246 
On  induction,  ....  246 

The  doctrine  of  idols,      .        .        .  247 

XII 

The  possibilities  of  man's  knowl- 
edge,    

The  fragmentary  character  of  his 
work, 

His  ignorance  of  contemporary  ad- 
vances in  science. 

His  own  discoveries, 


249 

249 

249 
250 
His  place  in  the  history  of  science,  250 

XIII 

The  endowment  of  research,    .         .  251 
The  New  Atlantis,  1614-1618,       .  251 
The  epilogue  to  the  English  Renais- 
sance,             252 

The  imaginary  college  of  science,    .  253 

Bacon's  aspiration,  .         .         .  255 

Prospects  of  realising  Bacon's  ideal,  255 


vn 

SHAKESPEARE'S  CAREER 


PAGE 

Bibliography,        ....  256 

I 
The  documentary  material,     .         .  256 
Parentage  and  baptism,  26th  April 

1564 257 

Education 257 

His  self-training 258 


II 

Experiences  of  youth,     . 

The  infant  drama,  . 

His  association  with  London, 


The  period  of  probation. 
Use  of  law  terms,    . 


page 

.  259 

.  259 

1586,  261 


261 
262 


CONTENTS 


XV 


Shakespeare's  conformity  with  pre- 
vailing habit 264 

IV 

Shakespeare's  early  plays,  .  .  265 

The  Earl  of  Southampton,  .  .  265 

At  Court,  1594,        .         .  .  .266 

Court  favour,  .  .  .268 


The  favour  of  the  crowd,         .         .  269 
Popular    fallacy    of    Shakespeare's 
neglect, 269 


Progressive  quality  of  his  work, 


271 


The  return  to  Stratford,  1611, 
His  financial  competence, 

vin 

His  last  days,  April  1616. 

His  will. 

His  monument. 


His  elegists,     . 
Prophecy  of  immortality. 


The  certainty  of  our  knowledge 
The  loss  of  his  manuscripts,    . 


PAGK 

.  272 
273 


275 
276 
277 


278 
280 


282 
282 


\TII 

FOREIGN    INFLUENCES    ON    SHAKESPEARE 


Bibliography, 


Shakespeare's  universal  repute, 
In  Germany  and  France, 
Shakespeare's  patriotism, 


PAGE 

.  285 


286 
286 
286 


II 

Foreign    influence   on    Elizabethan 

literature, 288 

Elizabethan  plagiarism,  .         .  289 


Shakespeare's    assimilative    power,  289 
His    instantaneous    power    of    per- 
ception,       .         .                  .         .291 

IV 

Early  instruction  in  Latin,      ,         .  292 

Apparent  ignorance  of  Greek.          .  293 

Knowledge  of  French  and  Italian,  .  294 

Lack  of  scholarship,         .         .         .  296 


V  PAGE 

Shakespeare  no  traveller  abroad,     .  297 
Imaginative  affinity  with  Italy,       .  299 


Internal    evidences   of   foreign    in- 
fluence,           300 

Greek  mythology 300 

Mythical  history  of  Greece,      .         .  301 

History  of  Rome 302 

Italian  history  and  literature,  .  303 

The  Italian  novel 304 

Othello  and  Merchant  of  Venice,         .  305 

Petrarch 306 

Italian  art, 307 


Poetry  of  France,    . 
Rabelais  and  Montaigne, 


308 
310 


Alertness  in  acquiring  foreign  knowl- 
edge  310 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


The    geographical    aspect    of 
work,  .... 

Greographical  blunders,    . 


PAGE 

his 
.  311 
.  312 


IX 

The  foreign  spirit,  in  his  work,  .  313 

Historic  sensibility,  .         .  .314 

Fidelity  to  'atmosphere,'         .  .  315 

Width  of  historic  outlook,       .  .  316 


X  PAGE 

Shakespeare's  relation  to  his  era,    .  317 

Elizabethan  literature  and  the  Re- 
naissance,        .         .         .         .317 

Shakespeare's  foreign  contempo- 
raries  318 

The  diffusion  of  the  spirit  of  the 
Renaissance,         .         .         .         .319 

Misapprehensions  to  be  guarded 
against 319 


Index, 323 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Sir  Philip  Sidney,  from  the  miniature  by  Isaac 
Oliver  in  the  Royal  Library  at  Windsor 
Castle, Frontispiece 

Sir  Thomas  More  at  the  age  of  49,  from  the 
portrait  by  Holbein  in  the  possession  of 
Edward  Huth,  Esq., to  face  page  X"^ 

Sir  Walter  Ralegh  at  the  age  of  34,  from  the 
portrait  attributed  to  Federigo  Zuccaro  in 
the  National   Portrait  Gallery,        .        .  "  '^116 

EiDMUND  Spenser,  from  the  portrait  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  Earl  of  Kinnoull  at  Dupplin 
Castle, "  "155 

Francis  Bacon,  Viscount  St.  Alban,  from  the 
portrait  by  Paul  Van  Somer  in  the  National 
Portrait  Gallery, "  ^^214 

William  Shakespeare,  from  the  monument  in 
the  chancel  of  the  Parish  Church  at  Strat- 
ford-upon-Avon,     "  ''  9.56 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE 

OF  LEADING   EVENTS   IN  THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLISH  AND 

EUROPEAN  CULTURE  FROM  THE  INTRODUCTION 

OF  PRINTING  INTO   ENGLAND  TO  THE 

DEATH  OF  FRANCIS  BACON 


1477.  Caxton  sets  up  a  printing-press 

at  Westminster. 
Birth  of  Titian. 

1478.  Birth  of  Sir  Thomas  More. 

1480.  Birth    of    Bandello,    the    Italian 
novelist. 

1483.  Birth  of  Raphael. 
Birth  of  Luther. 
Birth  of  Rabelais. 

1484.  Birth  of  Julius  Caesar  Scaliger. 

1485.  Death  of  Richard  iii. 
Accession  of  Henry  vii. 

1486.  Birth  of  Andrea  del  Sarto. 

1491.  Copernicus    studies    optics,    and 

mathematics  at  Cracow. 

1492.  Columbus'  first  voyage  to  West 

Indies. 

1493.  Columbus'  second  voyage  to  West 

Indies. 

1494.  Death  of  Politian. 

1497.  John  Cabot   sights  Cape  Breton 

and  Nova  Scotia. 
Vasco  di  Gama  rounds  the  Cape 

of  Good  Hope. 
Birth  of  Holbein. 

1498.  Columbus  discovers  South  Amer- 

ica. 
Erasmus  first  visits  England. 
Death  of  Savonarola. 

1499.  Cabot    follows    North    American 

coast  from  60°  to  30°  N.  lat. 
Leonardo  da  Vinci's '  Last  Supper.' 


1499.  Birth  of  Charles  V. 

1502.  Columbus   sails    in    the    Gulf   of 

Mexico. 
1504.  More  enters  Parliament. 
More's  first  marriage. 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  paints  'Mona 

Lisa. ' 
Sanazzaro's  Arcadia. 
1506.  Death  of  Columbus. 

1508.  Michael  Angelo  decorates  the  roof 

of  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

1509.  Death  of  Henry  vii. 
Accession  of  Henry  viii. 
Erasmus'  Encomium  Morice  pub- 
lished. 

Raphael  decorates  the  Vatican. 
Birth  of  Calvin. 

1510.  More  Under-Sheriff  of  London. 
Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso. 
Titian  paints  '  Sacred  and  profane 

Love.' 
Death  of  Botticelli. 

1511.  More's  second  marriage. 

1512.  Death  of  Amerigo  Vespucci. 

1513.  Leo  X.  Pope. 

Wolsey  chief  minister  in  England. 
Machiavelli's  Prince  composed. 

1515.  More  sent  as  envoy  to  Flanders. 
Raphael's  'Sistine  Madonna.' 

1516.  Erasmus  translates  Vulgate  into 

Greek. 
More's  Utopia. 

xir 


XX 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


1517. 

Erasmus  finaUy  leaves  England. 

1533. 

Luther  nails  his  challenge  to  the 

Pope    on    Wittenberg    Church 

door. 

1534. 

1518. 

Birth  of  Tintoretto. 

1519. 

Death  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
Charles  v.  elected  emperor. 

1520. 

Death  of  Raphael. 

Luther  burns  papal  bull  condemn- 

1535. 

ing  him. 

1521. 

More  knighted. 

1521. 

Luther  translates  Scriptures  into 

German. 

1536. 

Death  of  Leo  x. 

1522. 

Luther  attacks  Henry  viii. 

1523. 

Lord     Berners's     translation     of 
Froissart's  Chronicles  (1st  vol.) 
published. 

More   Speaker   of   the   House  of 

Commons. 

1539. 

Titian's  '  Bacchus  and  Ariadne.' 

1524. 

Birth  of  Ronsard. 

1540. 

1525. 

Tyndale  translates  the  New  Testa- 
ment into  English. 

1542. 

Lord     Berners's     translation     of 

1543. 

Froissart's  Chronicles  (2nd  vol.) 

published. 

1544. 

More  Chancellor  of  the  Duchy  of 

1546. 

Lancaster. 

1526. 

Sebastian  Cabot  visits  La  Plata 
in  behalf  of  Charles  v.  of  Spain. 

1527. 

Holbein  visits  England. 

Death  of  Machiavelli  (cet.  58). 

1547. 

1528. 

Birth  of  Albert  Diirer. 

Birth  of  Paul  Veronese. 

1549. 

1529. 

More   succeeds   Wolsey   as   Lord 
Chancellor. 

1530. 

Copernicus     (De    Revolutionibus) 
completes  description  of  solar 

system. 

1550. 

The    Augsburg    Confession    em- 

bodies Luther's  final  principles. 

1532 

More  resigns  office  of  Lord  Chan- 

cellor. 

1551. 

Machiavelli's  Prince  published. 

Rabelais'    Pantagruel    and     Gar- 

1552. 

gantua. 

Birth  of  Jean  Antoine  de  Baif. 

1533 

Separation    of     English    Church 

from  Rome. 

1553. 

Divorce  of  Queen  Catherine. 

Death  of  Ariosto. 

Birth  of  Montaigne. 

Henry  viii.  made  supreme  Head 

of  the  Church  of  England. 
The    Nun    of    Kent    denounces 

Henry  viii. 
More  sent  to  the  Tower. 
Execution  of  More. 
Coverdale's    translation    of    the 

Bible     (first     complete     Bible 

printed  in  English). 
English  Bible  issued  by  Rogers. 
Dissolution  of  lesser  monasteries. 
Pope  Paul  III.  issues  bull  of  de- 
position against  Henry  viii. 
Death  of  Erasmus. 
Calvin's  Christiance  ReKgionis  In- 

stitutio  published. 
Suppression  of  greater  abbeys  in 

England. 
Order  of  Jesuits  instituted. 
Montemayor's  Diana. 
Inquisition  established  in  Rome. 
Death  of  Copernicus. 
Death  of  Holbein. 
Birth  of  Tasso. 
Michael  Angelo  designs  the  dome 

of  St.  Peter's,  Rome. 
Death  of  Luther. 
Birth  of  Tycho  Brahe. 
Birth  of  Philippe  Desportes. 
Death  of  Henry  viii. 
Accession  of  Edward  vi. 
English  Book  of  Common  Prayer 

issued. 
Ronsard's  first  poem  published. 
Du  Bellay's  Defense  ei  illustration 

de  la  langue  Frangaise. 
Monument  to  Chaucer  erected  in 

Westminster  Abbey. 
Inauguration     of     the      French 

Plgiade. 
English     translation     of     More's 
Utopia. 
.  English  Prayer  Book  revised  by 
Cranmer. 
Birth  of  Edmund  Spenser. 
Birth  of  Sir  Walter  Ralegh. 
.  Death  of  Edward  vi. 


CHRONOLOGICAL   TABLE 


XXI 


1553.  Coronation  of  Lady  Jane  Grey. 
Accession  of  Mary,  who  restores 

the  Catholic  religion. 
Death  of  Rabelais. 

1554.  Birth  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney. 
Bandello's  Novelle  published. 

1555.  Persecution     of     Protestants     in 

England. 

1556.  Death  of  Cranmer. 

Death  of  Ingatius  Loyola,  founder 
of  the  Jesuits. 
1658.  England  loses  Calais. 

Death  of  Queen  Mary. 

Accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who 
restores  Protestantism  in  Eng- 
land. 

Death  of  Julius  Caesar  Scaliger. 

1560.  The  Geneva   (Breeches)   Bible. 
First    collective    edition    of    the 

works  of  Ronsard. 
Death  of   Du   Bellay. 
Death   of   Bandello,    the    Italian 

novelist. 

1561.  Birth  of  Francis  Bacon. 
Scaliger's   Poetics   published. 

1562.  Tasso's  epic  Rinaldo  written. 

1563.  The  Thirty-nine  Articles  imposed 

on   the   English   Clergy. 

1564.  Birth  of  Shakespeare. 
Birth  of  Marlowe. 
Death  of  Michael  Angelo. 
Death  of  Calvin. 

Birth  of  Galileo. 

1565.  Cinthio's  Hecatommithi  published. 
1568.  The  'Bishop's  Bible'  published. 

1571.  Bull  of  deposition  issued  by  Pope 

Pius    V.   against    Queen  Eliza- 
beth. 
Birth  of  Kepler. 

1572.  The  St.  Bartholomew  Massacre  in 

Paris. 

1573.  Sidney  in  Germany  and  Italy. 

1574.  Death    of    Cinthio,    the    Italian 

novelist. 
1576.  First    public    theatre   opened    in 
London. 

Death  of  Titian. 

Festivities  at  Kenilworth  in  hon- 
our of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

Spenser  becomes  M.A. 


1577.  Sidney  on  diplomatic   mission  in 

Germany. 
Birth  of  Rubens. 

1578.  Sidney  visits  William  of  Orange 

at  Antwerp. 

1579.  Gosson's  School  of  Abuse. 
North's    English    translation    of 

Plutarch's    Lives. 

Spenser's  Shepheards  Calender 
published. 

Sidney  and  Spenser  became  mem- 
bers of  the  'Areopagus.' 

Birth  of  John  Fletcher. 

1580.  Lyly's  Euphues  published. 
Spenser     settles     in     Ireland     in 

Government  service. 

Sir  F.  Drake  returns  to  England 
after  his  circumnavigation. 

Kepler  and  Tycho  Brahe's  Astro- 
nomical Tables  published. 

Montaigne's  Essais  (i.  ii.)  pub- 
lished. 

1581.  Sidney's    Arcadia    finished,    his 

Sonnets  and  Apologie  for  Poetrie 
begun. 
Tasso's  Gerusalemme  Liberata  pub- 
lished, and  Aminta  written. 

1582.  Shakespeare  marries  Anne  Hatha- 

way. 
Bible  translated  by  English  Cath- 
olics at  Rheims. 

1583.  Bruno  visits  England. 

Sidney  knighted:  becomes  Joint- 
Master  of  Ordnance  and  marries 
Frances  Walsingham. 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  voyages  to 
Newfoundland. 

Grant  to  Sidney  of  land  in  Amer- 
ica. 

Galileo  discovers  the  principle  of 
the  pendulum. 

1584.  Bacon  enters  Parliament. 
Ralegh's  colonisation  of  Virginia 

begins. 
Birth  of  Francis  Beaumont. 

1585.  Death  of  Ronsard  (27th  Decem- 

ber). 
Guarini's  Pastor  Fido  acted. 
Cervantes'    first    work,    Galatea, 

published. 


xxu 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


1586.  Shakespeare  leaves  Stratford-on- 

Avon  for  London. 

Hooker's  Ecclesiastical  Polity 
begun. 

Bacon  becomes  a  member  of 
Gray's  Imi. 

English  army  supports  Protes- 
tants of  Low  Countries. 

Sidney  Governor  of  Flushing. 

Tobacco  and  potatoes  introduced 
into  England. 

1587.  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine  produced. 
Marlowe,     Lodge,     Greene,     and 

Peele  begin  writing  for  English 


1588. 


1589. 


1590. 


1591. 


Execution  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

Defeat  of  Spanish  Armada. 

Death  of  Paul  Veronese. 

Montaigne's  Essais  (iii.)  published. 

Bacon's    Advertisement    touching 
Controversies  of  the  Church. 

Drake  plunders  Corunna. 

Lope  de  Vega  commences  his  great 
series  of  dramas. 

Death  of  Jean  Antoine  de  Baif. 

Sidney's  Arcadia  published. 

Spenser  revisits  London,  and  pub- 
lishes his  Faerie  Queene  (i.-iii.). 

Death  of  Walsingham. 

Bacon  enters  service  of  the  Earl 
of  Essex. 

Spenser  receives  a  pension  from 
the  Queen. 

Sidney's  Astrophel  and  Stella. 

Spenser's    Daphnaida    and    Com- 
plaints. 

Shakespeare's  Love's  Labour's  Lost 
written. 

Shakespeare  remodels  Henry  VL 

Death  of  Montaigne. 

Galileo  supports  Copernican  theory 
in  lectures  at  Padua. 

Death  of  Marlowe. 

Shakespeare's  Venus  and  Adonis 
published. 

Shakespeare's  Lucrece  published. 

Shakespeare  acts  at  Court. 

Spenser  marries  Elizabeth  Boyle. 

Death  of  Tintoretto. 
1595.  Ralegh  sails  to  Guiana. 


1592. 


1593. 


1594. 


1595.  Sidney's  Apologie  for  Poetrie  pub- 

lished. 
Spenser's   Colin   Clout,   Amoretti, 

and  Epithalamion  published. 
Death  of  Tasso. 

1596.  Death  of  Sir  Francis  Drake. 
Ralegh's  Discovery  of  Guiana  writ- 
ten (published,  1606). 

Spenser's  View  of  the  State  of  Ire- 
land completed.  Faerie  Queene 
(iv.-vi.)  and  Prothalamion  pub- 
lished. 

1597.  First  edition  of  Bacon's  Essays. 
Shakespeare  WTites  1  Henry  IV., 

and     purchases     New     Place, 
Stratf  ord-on- A  von . 

1598.  Globe  Theatre  built. 
Death  of  Lord  Burghley. 
Spenser  Sheriff  of  Cork. 
Sidney's  Arcadia  edited 
Jonson's     Every    Man 

Humour  acted. 

1599.  Death  of  Spenser  and  burial  in 

Westminster  Abbey, 
Expedition  of  Earl  of  Essex  in 
Ireland. 

1600.  WUliam    Gilbert's    De    Magnete 

published. 

Death  of  Hooker. 

Birth  of  Calderon. 

Fairfax's  translation  of  Tasso's 
Jerusalem  Delivered  published. 

Giordano  Bruno  burned  at  Rome. 

Earl  of  Essex's  rebellion  and  ex- 
ecution. 

Death  of  Tycho  Brahe ;  he  is 
succeeded  by  Kepler  as  as- 
tronomer to  the  Emperor  Ru- 
dolph II. 

Hamlet  produced. 

Death  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

Accession  of  James  i. 

Florio's  translation  of  Montaigne 
published. 

Ralegh    condemned    for    alleged 
treason  and  imprisoned  in  the 
Tower  of  London. 
1604.  Hamlet  published  in  quarto, 

England  makes  peace  with  Spain. 

Kepler's  Optics  published. 


in  folio. 
in     His 


1601. 


1602. 
1603. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE 


XXlll 


1605. 


1607. 
1608. 


1609. 


1611. 

1612. 

1613. 
1614. 
1615. 
1616. 


Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning 
published. 

Bacon  marries  Alice  Barnham. 

Cervantes'  Don  Quixote,  Part  i., 
published. 

Death  of  Desportes. 

Bacon  Solicitor-General. 

King  Lear  published  in  quarto. 

Birth  of  Milton. 

Spenser's  Works  published  in  folio- 
Shakespeare's  Sonnets,  Troilus  and 
Cressida,  and  Pericles  published 
in  quarto. 

Kepler  publishes  first  and  second 
laws  of  astronomical  calcula- 
tion. 

Galileo  discovers  the  satellites  of 
Jupiter. 

Shakespeare's  Tempest  probably 
written  ;  after  which  the  dram- 
atist retires  to  Stratford. 

Authorised  Version  of  Bible  is- 
sued. 

Secojid  edition  of  Bacon's  Essays. 

Death  of  Robert  Cecil,  Earl  of 
Salisbury. 

Bacon  Attorney-General. 

Death  of  Guarini. 

Ralegh's  History  of  the  World 
published. 

Cervantes'  Don  Quixote,  Part  ii., 
published. 

Bacon  privy-councillor. 


1616. 


1617. 


1619. 


1620. 

1621. 

1622. 
1623. 


1624. 
1625. 


Death  of  Shakespeare. 

Death  of  Francis  Beaumont. 

Death  of  Cervantes. 

Bacon  Lord  Keeper. 

Expedition  of  Ralegh  to  the 
Orinoco. 

Galileo  submits  to  the  ecclesias- 
tical authorities. 

Bacon  Lord  Chancellor,  and  raised 
to  peerage  as  Lord  Verulam. 

Ralegh's  execution. 

Harvey  reveals  his  discovery  of 
the  Circulation  of  the  Blood. 

Kepler  publishes  third  law  in  his 
Harmonia  Mundi. 

Landing  of  Pilgrim  Fathers  in 
New   England. 

Bacon's  Novum  Organum  pub- 
lished. 

Bacon  made  Viscount  St.  Alban; 
charged  with  corruption,  con- 
victed, and  degraded. 

Bacon's  Henry  VH.  published. 

Othello  published  in  quarto. 

Shakespeare's  First  Folio  pub- 
lished. 

Bacon's  De  Augmentis  published. 

Bacon  writes  New  Atlantis. 

Third  and  final  edition  of  Bacon's 


Death  of  James  i. 
Death  of  John  Fletcher. 
1626.  Death  of  Bacon  (April  9). 


GREAT     ENGLISHMEN     OF     THE 
SIXTEENTH     CENTURY 

I 

THE    SPIRIT    OF   THE    SIXTEENTH    CENTURY 

'  What  a  piece  of  work  is  manl  How  noble  in  reason!  how  in- 
finite in  faculty  1  in  form,  in  moving  how  express  and  admi- 
rable! in  action  how  like  an  angel!  in  apprehension  how  like 
a  god !  the  beauty  of  the  world !  the  paragon  of  animals ! ' 

Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  ii.  ii.  323-8. 

*  Nam  ipsa  scientia  potestas  est.  * 

Bacon,  Meditationes  Sacrae. 

[Bibliography. — The  subject  of  the  European  Renaissance 
may  be  studied  at  length  in  Burckhardt's  Civilisation  of  the 
Period  of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy  (English  ed.  1890);  in  J.  A. 
Symonds's  Renaissance  in  Italy  (7  vols.  ed.  1898) ;  and  in  the 
Cambridge  Modern  History,  vol.  i.,  1902.  Important  phases 
of  the  movement  are  well  illustrated  in  Walter  Pater's  coUeo* 
tion  of  Essays  called  The  Renaissance  (1877).] 


In  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography  will  be  found  the 
lives  of  more  than  two  thousand  Englishmen   and  English- 
women who  flourished  in  England  in  the  sixteenth     National 
century.     It   is   the   first   century   in    our   history     and^^^^  ^ 
which    offers    the    national    biographer    subjects     cenufry^ 
reaching  in  number  to  four  figures.     The  English-     England, 
men  who  attained,  according  to  the  national  biographer's  esti- 
mate,  the   level   of   distinction   entitling   them   to   biographic 

A 


2  GREAT  ENGLISHMEN 

commemoration  were  in  the  sixteenth  century  thrice  as  numer- 
ous as  those  who  reached  that  level  in  the  foarteenth  or  fif- 
teenth  century. 

The  number  of  distinguished  men  which  a  country  pro- 
duces depends  to  some  extent^  but  to  some  extent  only,  on 
Causes  of  ^^^  population.  England  of  the  sixteenth  century 
acW^v^''^  was  more  populous  than  England  of  the  four- 
ment.  teenth   or   fifteenth,   but   the   increase   of   popula- 

tion is  not  as  three  to  one,  which  is  the  rate  of  increase  in 
the  volume  of  distinctive  achievement.  Probably  the  four 
millions  of  the  fifteenth  century  became  five  millions  in  the 
sixteenth,  a  rate  of  increase  of  twenty-five  per  cent.,  an  in- 
finitesimal rate  of  increase  when  it  is  compared  with  the 
gigantic  increase  of  three  hundred  per  cent.,  which  charac- 
terises the  volume  of  distinctive  achievement.  One  must, 
therefore,  look  outside  statistics  of  population  for  the  true 
cause  of  the  fact  that  for  every  man  who  gained  any  sort  of 
distinction  in  fifteenth  century  England,  three  men  gained 
any  sort  of  distinction  in  the  sixteenth  century.  It  is  not 
to  the  numbers  of  the  people  that  we  need  direct  our  atten- 
tion; it  is  to  their  spirit,  to  the  working  of  their  minds,  to 
their  outlook  on  life,  to  their  opportunities  of  uncommon  ex- 
perience that  we  must  turn  for  a  solution  of  our  problem. 

Englishmen  of  the  sixteenth  century  breathed  a  new 
atmosphere  intellectually  and  spiritually.  They  came  under 
The  Re-  ^   ^^^   stimulus.   Compounded   of   many   elements^ 

naissance.       ^^^j^  ^^  ^j^^^^  ^^^  ^^^  inspiring.     To  that  stimulus 

must  be  attributed  the  sudden  upward  growth  of  distinctive 
achievement  among  them,  the  increase  of  the  opportunities 
of  famous  exploits,  and  the  consequent  preservation  from 
oblivion  of  more  names  of  Englishmen  than  in  any  century 
before.  The  stimulus  under  which  Englishmen  came  in  the 
sixteenth  century  may  be  summed  up   in  the  familiar  word 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY     3 

Renaissance.     The  main  factor  of  the  European  Renaissance, 

of  the  New  Birth  of  intellect,  was  a  passion  for  extending 

the   limits   of   human   knowledge,   and   for   employing   man's 

capabilities  to  new  and  better  advantage  than  of  old.     New 

curiosity  was   generated  in  regard  to  the  dimensions  of  the 

material  world.     There  was  a  boundless  enthusiasm  for  the 

newly  discovered  art  and  literature  of  ancient  Greece.     Men 

were  fired  by  a  new  resolve  to  make  the  best   and  not  the 

worst  of  life  upon  earth.     They  were  ambitious  to  cultivate 

as  the  highest  good  the  idea  of  beauty. 

All  the  nations  of  Western  Europe  came  under  the  sway 

of  the  mighty  movement  of  the   Renaissance,   and   although 

national   idosyncrasies    moulded    and   coloured    its 

development    in    each    country,    there    was    every-     of  the 

movement. 
where    close    resemblance    in    the    general    effect. 

The  intellectual  restlessness  and  recklessness  of  sixteenth 
century  England,  with  its  literary  productivity  and  yearn- 
ing for  novelty  and  adventure,  differed  little  in  broad  out- 
line, however  much  it  differed  in  detail,  from  the  intellectual 
life  of  sixteenth  century  France,  Italy,  Spain,  or  even  Ger- 
many. It  was  the  universal  spirit  of  the  Renaissance,  and 
no  purely  national  impulse,  which  produced  in  sixteenth 
century  England  that  extended  series  of  varied  exploits  on 
the  part  of  Englishmen  and  Englishwomen,  the  like  of  which 
had  not  been  known  before  in  the  history  of  our  race.  That 
series  of  exploits  may  be  said  to  begin  with  the  wonderful 
enlightenment  of  Sir  Thomas  More's  Utopia,  and  to  cul- 
minate in  the  achievements  of  Bacon  and  Shakespeare; 
sharply  divided  as  was  the  form  of  Shakespeare's  work  from 
that  of  Bacon,  each  was  in  spirit  the  complement  of  the 
other. 

Bacon    ranks    in    eminence    only    second    to    Shakespeare 
among  the  English  sons  of  the  Renaissance,  and  his  Latin 


4  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

apophthegm,,  *  nam  ipsa  scientia  potestas  est ' — '  for  know- 
ledge   is    power ' — might    be    described    as    the    watchword 

of    the    intellectual    history    of    England^    as    of 
'  Know- 
ledge is  all    Western    Europe,    in    the    sixteenth    century. 

IDOWGr.' 

The  true  sons  of  the  Renaissance  imagined  that 
unrestricted  study  of  the  operations  of  nature,  life,  and 
thought  could  place  at  their  command  all  the  forces  which 
moved  the  world.  The  Renaissance  student's  faith  was 
that  of  Marlowe's  Faustus: 

*Oh,  what  a  world  of  profit  and  delight, 
Of  power,  of  honour,  and  omnipotence, 
Is  promised  to  the  studious  artisan! 
All  things  that  move  between  the  quiet  poles 
Shall  be  at  my  command;  emperors  and  kings 
Are  but  obeyed  in  their  several  provinces; 
But  his  dominion  that  exceeds  in  this, 
Stretcheth  as  far  as  doth  the  mind  of  man.'  ^ 

Knowledge  was  the  ever  present  quest.  Study  yielded  '  god- 
like recompense,'  which  was  worthy  of  any  exertion.  Men 
drank  deep  of  the  fountains  of  knowledge  and  were  still 
insatiate.  Extravagant  conceptions  were  bred  of  the  capa- 
bilities of  man's  intellect  which  made  it  easy  of  belief  that 
onmiscience  was  ultimately  attainable. 


Here  and  there  a  painful  scholar  of  the  Renaissance  was 
content  to  seek  knowledge  in  one  direction  only;  such  an 
Width  of  ^^^  cheerfully  forewent  the  joys  of  life  in  the 
outlook.  hope  of  mastering  in  all  minuteness  a  single 
branch  of  learning,  or  of  science.  But  the  meticulous  scholar 
was  not  typical  of  the  epoch.  The  children  of  the  Renais- 
sance scorned  narrowness  of  outlook.  They  thirsted  for 
»  Marlowe,  Faustus,  Sc.  i.  54  sq. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY     5 

universal  knowledge ;  they  pursued  with  equal  eagerness  prac- 
tice and  theory.  Natural  science  was  not  divorced  from 
literature.  The  study  of  mathematics  was  a  fit  pursuit  for 
the  artist.  The  greatest  painter  of  the  age,  Leonardo  da 
Vinci,  was  also  poet,  mathematician,  engineer,  expert  indeed 
in  all  branches  of  physical  science.  The  poet  and  the  scholar 
were  ambitious  to  engage  in  affairs  of  the  world — in  war  or 
politics.  It  was  no  part  of  a  man,  however  richly  endowed 
by  genius,  to  avoid  the  active  business  of  life.  Dialecticians 
of  the  time  credited  all  goals  of  human  endeavour  with 
inherent  unity.  They  repeatedly  argued,  for  example,  that 
skill  with  the  pen  was  the  proper  complement  of  skill  with 
the  sword.  Poetry,  according  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  an  ad- 
mirable representative  of  Renaissance  aspirations,  was  the 
rightful  '  companion  of  camps,'  and  no  soldier  could  safely 
neglect  the  military  teachings  of  Homer.  Avowed  specialism 
was  foreign  to  the  large  temper  of  the  times.  Versatility  of 
interest  and  experience  was  the  accepted  token  of  human 
excellence. 

There  are  obvious  disadvantages  in  excessive  distribution  of 
mental   energy.      The  products   of   diversified   endeavour   are 
commonly  formless,  void,  and  evanescent.     But  the     ^^^^^^^  ^^ 
era  of  the  Renaissance  had  such  abundant  stores     ^l^^^JJj^" 
of  intellectual  energy  that,  in  spite  of  all  that  was     mental 

_      ,  energy. 

dissipated  in  the  vain  quest  of  omniscience,  there 
remained  enough  to  vitalise  particular  provinces  of  endeavour 
with  enduring  and  splendid  effect.  The  men  of  the  Re- 
naissance had  reserves  of  strength  which  enabled  them  to 
master  more  or  less  specialised  fields  of  work,  even  while 
they  winged  vague  and  discursive  flights  through  the  whole 
intellectual  expanse.  Leonardo  da  Vinci  was  an  excellent 
mathematician  and  poet,  but  despite  his  excellence  in  these 
directions,  his  supreme  power  was  concentrated  on  painting. 


6  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Prodigal  as  seemed  the  expenditure  of  intellectual  effort, 
there  was  a  practical  economy  in  its  application.  In  the 
result  its  ripest  fruit  was  stimulating  and  lasting,  more  stim- 
ulating and  lasting  than  any  which  came  of  the  more  rigid 
specialism  of  later  epochs. 

More  and  Ralegh,  Sidney  and  Spenser,  Bacon  and  Shake- 
speare,  all  pertinently   illustrate   the  versatility   of  the   age, 
the  bold  digressiveness  of  its  intellectual  and  im- 
of  great  aginative  endeavour.      To  varying  extents   omnis- 

menofthe  cience  was  the  foible  of  all  and  carried  with  it 
epoc  .  ^j^g  inevitable  penalties.      Each  set   foot  in  more 

numerous  and  varied  tracts  of  knowledge  than  any  one  man 
could  thoroughly  explore.  They  treated  of  many  subjects, 
of  the  real  significance  of  which  they  obtained  only  the  faint- 
est and  haziest  glimpse.  The  breadth  of  their  intellectual 
ambitions  at  times  impoverished  their  achievement.  The 
splendid  gifts  of  Sidney  and  Ralegh  were  indeed  largely 
wasted  in  too  wide  and  multifarious  a  range  of  work.  They 
did  a  strange  variety  of  things  to  admiration,  but  failed  to 
do  the  one  thing  of  isolated  pre-eminence  which  might  have 
rewarded  efficient  concentration  of  effort.  Shakespeare's  in- 
tellectual capacity  seems  as  catholic  in  range  as  Leonardo 
da  Vinci's,  and  laws  that  apply  to  other  men  hardly  apply 
to  him,  but  there  were  tracts  of  knowledge,  outside  even 
Shakespeare's  province,  on  which  he  trespassed  unwisely. 
His  handling  of  themes  of  law,  geography,  and  scholarship, 
proves  that  in  his  case,  as  in  that  of  smaller  men,  there  were 
limits  of  knowledge  beyond  which  it  was  perilous  for  him 
to  stray.  With  greater  insolence  Bacon  wrote  of  astronomy 
without  putting  himself  to  the  trouble  of  apprehending  the 
solar  system  of  Copernicus,  and  misinterpreted  other  branches 
of  science  from  lack  of  special  knowledge.  But  in  the  case 
of  Bacon  and  Shakespeare,  such  errors  are  spots  on  the  sun. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY     7 

As  interpreter  in  drama  of  human  nature  Shakespeare  has 
no  rival;  nor  indeed  among  prophets  of  science  has  any 
other  shown  Bacon's  magnanimity  or  eloquence.  Although 
nature  had  amply  endowed  them  with  the  era's  universality 
of  intellectual  interests^  she  had  also  given  them  the  power 
of  demonstrating  the  full  force  of  their  rare  genius  in  a 
particular  field  of  effort.  It  was  there  that  each  reached 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  glory. 


Ill 

In  a  sense  the  sixteenth  century  was  an  age  of  transition, 

of  transition   from   the   ancient   to   the   modern  worlds   from 

the  age  of  darkness  and  superstition  to  the  age  of 

light  and  scientific  knowledge.     A  mass  of  newly    tional 

discovered   knowledge  lay  at  its   disposal,  but  so     the 

century. 
large  a  mass  that  succeeding  centuries  had  to  be 

enlisted  in  the  service  of  digesting  it  and  co-ordinating  it. 
When  the  sixteenth  century  opened,  the  aspects  of  human 
life  had  recently  undergone  revolution.  The  old  established 
theories  of  man  and  the  world  had  been  refuted,  and  much 
time  was  required  for  the  evolution  of  new  theories  that 
should  be  workable,  and  fill  the  vacant  places.  The  new 
problems  were  surveyed  with  eager  interest  and  curiosity, 
but  were  left  to  the  future  for  complete  solution.  The  scien- 
tific spirit,  which  is  the  life  of  the  modern  world,  was  con- 
ceived in  the  sixteenth  century;  it  came  to  birth  later. 

The    causes    of   the    intellectual    awakening    which    distin- 
guished  sixteenth   century   Europe   lie   on   the   surface.      Its 
primary   mainsprings    are   twofold.      On   the    one    primary 
hand  a  distant  past  had  been  suddenly  unveiled,    ^f^^? 
and  there  had  come  to  light  an  ancient  literature     awakening. 
and  an  ancient  philosophy  which  proved  the  human  intellect 


8  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

to  possess  capacities  hitherto  unimagined.  On  the  other 
hand^  the  dark  curtains  which  had  hitherto  restricted  man's 
view  of  the  physical  world  to  a  small  corner  of  it  were  torn 
asunder,  and  the  strange  fact  was  revealed  that  that  which 
had  hitherto  been  regarded  by  men  as  the  whole  sphere  of 
physical  life  and  nature,  was  in  reality  a  mere  fragment  of 
a  mighty  universe  of  which  there  had  been  no  previous 
conception. 

Of  the  two  revelations — that  of  man's  true  intellectual 
capacity  and  that  of  the  true  extent  of  his  physical  environ- 
The  priority  Hient — the  intellectual  revelation  came  first.  The 
hitellectuai  Physical  revelation  followed  at  no  long  interval, 
revelation.  j^.  ^^g  ^j^  accidental  conjuncture  of  events.  But 
each  powerfully  reacted  on  the  other,  and  increased  its  fer- 
tility of  effect. 

It  was  the  discovery  anew  by  Western  Europe  of  classical 
Greek  literature  and  philosophy  which  was  the  spring  of  the 
Thedis-  intellectual  revelation  of  the  Renaissance.     That 

Greek^^  discovery  was  begun  in  the  fourteenth  century, 
andpWlt  ^^^^  Greek  subjects  of  the  falling  Byzantine  em- 
sopny.  pii.e  brought  across  the  Adriatic  manuscript  memo- 

rials of  Greek  intellectual  culture.  But  it  was  not  till  the 
final  overthrow  of  the  Byzantine  empire  by  the  Turks  that 
all  that  survived  of  the  literary  art  of  Athens  was  driven 
westward  in  a  flood,  and  the  whole  range  of  Greek  enlight- 
enment— the  highest  enlightenment  that  had  yet  dawned  in 
the  human  mind — lay  at  the  disposal  of  Western  Europe. 
It  was  then  there  came  for  the  first  time  into  the  modern 
world  the  feeling  for  form,  the  frank  delight  in  life  and 
the  senses,  the  unrestricted  employment  of  the  reason,  with 
every  other  enlightened  aspiration  that  was  enshrined  in 
Attic  literature  and  philosophy.  Under  the  growing  Greek 
influence,  all  shapes  of  literature  and  speculation,  of  poetry 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY    9 

and  philosophy,  sprang  into  new  life  in  Italy  during  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  In  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury the  torch  was  handed  on  by  Italy  to  Spain, 

The 
France,  Germany,  and  England.     In  each  of  those     Italian 

influence, 
countries  the  light  developed  in  accord  with  the 

national  idiosyncrasy,  but  in  none  of  them  did  it  wholly 
lose  the  Italian  hue,  which  it  acquired  at  its  first  coming 
into  Western  Europe.  It  was  mainly  through  Florence 
that  the  newly  released  stream  of  Hellenism  flowed  north- 
wards. 

From   another  quarter  than  the   East  came,  a  little  later, 
the   physical  revelation  which   helped  no   less   to  mould   the 

spirit  of  the  era.      Until  the  extreme  end  of  the 
^  The 

fifteenth  century,  man  knew  nothing  of  the  true    physical 

revelation. 
shape  or   extent  of  the  planet  on  which  his  life 

was  cast.  Fantastic  theories  of  cosmography  had  been 
evolved,  to  which  no  genuine  test  had  been  applied.  It 
was  only  in  the  year  1492  that  Western  Europe  first  learned 
its  real  place  on  the  world's  surface.  The  maritime  ex- 
plorations which  distinguished  the  decade  1490-1500  un- 
veiled new  expanses  of  land  and  sea  which  reduced  to 
insignificance  the  fragments  of  earth  and  heaven  with  which 
men  had  hitherto  been  familiar. 

To  the  west  was  brought  to  light  for  the  first  time  a  con- 
tinent  larger   than   the   whole   area   of   terrestrial   matter   of 

which    there    was    previous    knowledge.      To    the 

Maritime 

south  a  Portuguese  mariner  discovered  that  Africa,     explora- 
tion. 

which  was  hitherto  deemed  to  be  merely  a  narrow 

strip  of  earth  forming  the  southern  boundary  wall  of  the 
world,  was  a  gigantic  peninsula  thrice  the  size  of  Europe, 
which  stretched  far  into  a  southern  ocean,  into  the  same 
ocean  which  washed  the  shores  of  India. 

Such  discoveries  were  far  more  than  contributions  to  the 


10  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

science  of  geography.  They  were  levers  to  lift  the  spirit 
Thedis-  °^   °^^"   ^^^°   unlooked-for   altitudes.      They   gave 

coveryof        j^g-^  conceptions  not  of  earth  alone,  but  of  heaven. 

the  solar  ^  ^ 

system.  The  skies  were  surveyed  from  points  of  view  which 

had  never  yet  been  approached.  A  trustworthy  study  of 
the  sun  and  stars  became  possible^  and  in  the  early  years  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  a  scientific  investigator  deduced  from 
the  rich  array  of  new  knowledge  the  startling  truth  that 
the  earth_,  hitherto  believed  to  be  the  centre  of  the  universe, 
was  only  one — and  that  not  the  largest — of  numerous  planet- 
ary bodies  rotating  around  the  sun.  If  Columbus  and  Vasco 
da  Gama,  the  discoverers  of  new  lands  and  seas,  deserve 
homage  for  having  first  revealed  the  true  dimensions  of 
the  earth,  to  Copernicus  is  due  the  supreme  honour  of  hav- 
ing taught  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  to  know  their  just 
place  in  the  economy  of  the  limitless  firmament,  over  which 
they  had  hitherto  fancied  that  they  ruled.  Whatever  final 
purpose  sun,  planets  and  stars  served,  it  was  no  longer 
possible  to  regard  them  as  mere  ministers  of  light  and  heat 
to  men  on  earth. 

So  stupendous  was  the  expansion  of  the  field  of  man's 
thought,  which  was  generated  by  the  efforts  of  Columbus  and 
Copernicus,  that  only  gradually  was  its  full  sig- 
sionof  nificance    apprehended.      AU    branches    of   human 

endeavour  and  human  speculation  were  ultimately 
remodelled  in  the  light  of  the  new  physical  revelation.  The 
change  was  in  the  sixteenth  century  only  beginning.  But 
new  ideals  at  once  came  to  birth,  and  new  applications  of 
human  energy  suggested  themselves   in   every   direction. 

Dreamers  believed  that  a  new  universe  had  been  born, 
and  that  they  were  destined  to  begin  a  new  manner  of 
human  life,  which  should  be  freed  from  the  defects  of  the 
old.      The   intellectual   revelation    of   a   new    culture   power- 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY    11 

fully  reinforced  the  physical  revelation  of  new  heavenly  and 
earthly  bodies.  Assured  hopes  of  human  perfectibility  per- 
meated human  thought.  The  unveiling  of  the  measureless 
expanse  of  physical  nature  made  of  man,  physically  con- 
sidered, a  pigmy,  but  the  spirited  enterprises  whereby  the 
new  knowledge  was  gained,  combined  with  the  revelation  of 
the  intellectual  achievements  of  the  past  to  generate  the 
new  faith  that  there  lurked  in  man's  mind  a  power  which 
would  ultimately  yield  him  mastery  of  all  the  hidden  forces 
of  animate  and  inanimate  nature. 

IV 

The    mechanical    invention    of    the    printing    press    almost 

synchronised  with  the  twofold  revelation   of  new   realms   of 

thought  and  nature.      The  ingenious   device  came 

The  inven- 
slowly  to  perfection,  but  as  soon  as  it  was  per-    tionof 

fected,  its  employment  spread  with  amazing  rapid- 
ity under  stress  of  the  prevailing  stir  of  discovery.  The 
printing  press  greatly  contributed  to  the  dissemination  of 
the  ideas,  which  the  movement  of  the  Renaissance  bred. 
Without  the  printing  press  the  spread  of  the  movement 
would  have  been  slower  and  its  character  would  have  been 
less  homogeneous.  The  books  embodying  the  new  spirit 
would  not  have  multiplied  so  quickly  nor  travelled  so  far. 
The  printing  press  distributed  the  fruit  of  the  new  spirit  over 
the  whole  area  of  the  civilised  world. 

In    every    sphere    of    human    aspiration    through    Western 
Europe  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  made  its  presence  felt. 

New  ideas  invaded  the  whole  field  of  human  effort 

The  Re- 
in a  tumbling  crowd,  but  many  traditions  of  the     naissance 

,  and  the 

ancient  regime,  which  the  invasion   threatened  to    Church  of 

displace,  stubbornly  held  their  ground.     Some  vet- 
eran principles  opposed  the  newcomers'  progress  and  checked 


12  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

the  growth  of  the  New  Birth  of  mind.  The  old  Papal 
Church  of  Rome  at  the  outset  absorbed  some  of  its  teach- 
ing. The  Roman  Church  did  not  officially  discourage  Greek 
learning  and  it  encouraged  exploration.  There  were  hu- 
manists among  the  Popes  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  cen- 
turies. But  the  new  spirit^  in  the  fulness  of  time,  demanded 
concessions  of  the  Church  which  struck  at  the  root  of  her 
being.  The  Church  peremptorily  refused  to  remodel  her 
beliefs  on  the  liberal  lines  that  the  new  spirit  laid  down. 
Ultimately  she  declared  open  war  on  the  enlightened  thought 
of  the  Renaissance.  Some  essayed  the  subtle  task  of  paying 
simultaneous  allegiance  to  the  two  opposing  forces.  Eras- 
mus's unique  fertility  of  mental  resource  enabled  him  to 
come  near  success  in  the  exploit.  But  most  found  the  at- 
tempt beyond  their  strength,  and,  like  Sir  Thomas  More 
the  greatest  of  those  who  tried  to  reconcile  the  irreconcil- 
able, sacrificed  genius  and  life  in  the  hopeless  cause. 

The  Papacy  had  more  to  fear  from  the  passion  for  enquiry 
and  criticism  which  the  Renaissance  evoked  than  from  the 
The  com-  positive  ideals  and  principles  which  it  generated. 
ProteS-^^  The  great  Protestant  schism  is  sometimes  repre- 
tantism.  sented,  without  much  regard  for  historic  truth,  as 

a  calculated  return  to  the  primitive  ideals  of  a  distant  past, 
as  a  deliberate  revival  of  a  divinely  inspired  system  of  re- 
ligion which  had  suffered  eclipse.  Its  origin  is  more  com- 
plex. It  was  mainly  the  outcome  of  a  compromise  with  the 
critical  temper,  which  the  intellectual  and  physical  revelations 
of  the  Renaissance  imposed  on  men's  mind.  Protestantism  in 
the  garb  in  which  it  won  its  main  triumph,  was  the  con- 
tribution of  Germany  to  the  spiritual  regeneration  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  a  Teutonic  cloudiness  of  sentiment 
overhung  its  foundations.  Protestantism  ignored  large  tracts 
of  the  new  teaching  and  a  mass  of  the  new  ideas  which  the 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY    13 

Italian  Renaissance  brought  to  birth  and  cherished.  But 
Protestants  were  eager  to  mould  their  belief  in  some  limited 
agreement  with  the  dictates  of  reason.  They  acknowledged, 
within  bounds,  the  Renaissance  faith  in  the  power  and  right 
of  the  human  intellect  to  grapple  with  the  mysteries  of 
nature.  The  dogmas  and  ceremonies  of  the  old  system  which 
signally  flouted  reason  were  denounced  and  rejected.  A 
narrow  interpretation  of  the  Renaissance  theory  of  human 
perfectibility  coloured  new  speculations  as  to  the  efficacy  of 
divine  grace.  But  Protestantism  declined  to  take  reason  as 
its  sole  guide  or  object  of  worship.  Protestantism  was  the 
fruit  of  a  compromise  between  the  old  conception  of  faith 
and  the  new  conception  of  reason.  The  compromise  was 
widely  welcomed  by  a  mass  of  enquirers  who,  though  moved 
by  the  spirit  of  the  age,  were  swayed  in  larger  degree  by 
religious  emotion,  and  cherished  unshakable  confidence  in 
the  bases  of  Christianity.  But  the  Protestant  endeavour  to 
accommodate  old  and  new  ideas  was  not  acceptable  in  all 
quarters.  A  bold  minority  in  Italy,  France  and  England, 
either  tacitly  or  openly,  spurned  a  compromise  which  was 
out  of  harmony  with  the  genuine  temper  of  the  era.  While 
Roman  Catholicism  fortified  its  citadels  anew,  and  Protes- 
tantism advanced  against  them  in  battle  array  in  growing 
strength,  the  free  thought  and  agnosticism,  which  the  un- 
alloyed spirit  of  the  Renaissance  generated,  gained  year  by 
year  fresh  accession  of  force  in  every  country  of  Western 
Europe. 

On   secular   literature   the   religious    reformation,    working 
within  its  normal  limits,  produced  a  far-reaching  effect.     The 
qualified  desire  for  increase  of  knowledge,  which    Literary 
characterised  the  new  religious  creeds,  widely  ex-    Sthe°^^ 
tended  the  first-hand  study  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,    ^^^^^• 
which    enshrined    the   title-deeds    of    Christianity.      Transla- 


14,  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

tions  of  the  Bible  into  living  tongues  were  encouraged  by  all 
Protestant  reformers^  and  thereby  Hebraic  sublimity  and  in- 
tensity gained  admission  to  much  Renaissance  literature.  It 
was  owing  to  such  turn  of  events  that  there  met^  notably  in 
the  great  literature  of  sixteenth  century  England,  the  so- 
lemnity of  Hebraism^  with  the  Hellenist  love  of  beauty  and 
form. 


The  incessant  clash  of  ideas — ^the  ferment  of  men's  thought 

— strangely  affected  the  moral  character  of  many  leaders  of 

the  Renaissance  in  England  no  less  than  in  Eu- 
The  ethical 
paradox  of      rope.     Life  was  lived  at  too  high  a  pressure  to 

maintain  outward  show  of  unity  of  purpose.  A 
moral  chaos  often  reigned  in  man's  being  and  vice  was  en- 
tangled inextricably  with  virtue. 

Probably  in  no  age  did  the  elemental  forces  of  good  and 
evil  fight  with  greater  energy  than  in  the  sixteenth  century 
The  for  the  dominion  of  man's  soul.     Or  rather,  never 

gooTand  ^^^  *^^  *^^  forces  make  closer  compact  with  each 
^^-  other  whereby  they  might  maintain  a  joint  occu- 

pation of  the  human  heart.  Men  who  were  capable  of  the 
noblest  acts  of  heroism  were  also  capable  of  the  most  con- 
temptible acts  of  treachery.  An  active  sense  of  loyalty  to 
a  throne  seemed  no  bar  to  secret  conspiracy  against  a  sov- 
ereign's life.  When  Shakespeare  described  in  his  sonnets 
the  two  spirits — '  the  better  angel '  and  *  the  worser  spirit,* 
both  of  whom  claimed  his  allegiance — he  repeated  a  conceit 
which  is  imiversal  in  the  poetry  of  the  Renaissance,  and 
represents  with  singular  accuracy  the  ethical  temper  of  the 
age. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SIXTEENTH  CENTURY     15 

Among  the  six  men  whose  life  and  work  are  portrayed  in 

this    volume,   three — More,   Bacon,   and   Raleffh —    ^, 

'  '  '  o  -pj^g  major 

forcibly  illustrate  the  mutually  inconsistent  char-    paradox  of 

acteristics  with  which  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance     Bacon,  and 

Ralegh. 
often  endowed  one  and  the  same  man.     More,  who 

proved  himself  in  the  Utopia  an  enlightened  champion  of  the 
freedom  of  the  intellect,  and  of  religious  toleration,  laid 
do^vn  his  life  as  a  martyr  to  superstition  and  to  the  principle 
of  authority  (in  its  least  rational  form)  in  matters  of  re- 
ligion. Ralegh  who  preached  in  his  Historic  of  the  World 
and  in  philosophic  tracts  a  most  elevated  altruism  and  phi- 
losophy of  life,  neglected  the  first  principles  of  honesty  in 
a  passionate  greed  of  gold.  Bacon,  who  rightly  believed 
himself  to  be  an  inspired  prophet  of  science,  and  a  clear- 
eyed  champion  of  the  noblest  progress  in  human  thought, 
stooped  to  every  petty  trick  in  order  to  make  money  and  a 
worldly   reputation. 

Happily  the  careers  of  the  three  remaining  subjects — Sid- 
ney, Spenser^  and  Shakespeare — are  paradoxical  in  a  minor 
degree.     But  the  paradox  which  is  inherent  in  the    The  minor 
spirit  of  the  time  cast  its  glamour  to  some  extent    sfjnev^^^ 
even  over  them.     The  poets  Sidney  and  Spenser,    ''^Pj^^lu^ 
who  preached  with  every  appearance  of  conviction    speare. 
the  fine  doctrine  that  the  poets'  crown  is   alone  worthy  the 
poets*    winning,    strained    their    nerves    until    they    broke    in 
death,    in    pursuit    of    such    will-o'-the-wisps    as    political    or 
military   fame.      Shakespeare,   with   narrow   personal   experi- 
ences  of   life,   and   with   worldly   ambitions   of   commonplace 
calibre,   mastered  the  whole   scale   of   human   aspiration   and 
announced   his   message  in   language  which   no  other   mortal 
has   yet   approached   in   insight   or   harmony.      Shakespeare's 
career    stands    apart    from    that    of    his    fellows    and    defies 
methods  of  analysis  which  are  applicable  to  theirs.     But  he^ 


16  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

no  less  than  they,  was  steeped  in  the  spirit  of  the  Renais- 
sance. In  him  that  spirit  reached  its  apotheosis.  With  it, 
however,  there  mingled  in  his  nature  a  mysteriously  potent 
element,  which  belonged  in  like  measure  in  individual  minds 
to  none  other.  The  magic  of  genius  has  worked  miracles 
in  many  epochs,  but  it  never  worked  greater  miracle  than 
when  it  fused  itself  in  Shakespeare's  being  with  the  ripe 
temper  of  Renaissance  culture. 


Sir  Thomas  More 


AT  THE  AGE  OF  49. 

Front  the  portrait  by  Holbein  in  the  possession  of  Edward  Hut  Jt,  Esq, 


II 

SIR  THOMAS   MORE 

*Thomae  Mori  ingenio  quid  unquam  finxit  natura  vel  mollius, 
vel  dulcius,  vel  felicius?' — [Than  the  temper  of  Thomas  More 
did  nature  ever  frame  aught  gentler,  sweeter,  or  happier?] 
Erasmi  Episiolae,Toni.  iii.,  No.  xiv. 

[Bibliography. — The  foundation  for  all  lives  of  Sir  Thomas 
More  is  the  charming  personal  memoir  by  his  son-in-law,  Wil- 
liam Roper,  which  was  first  printed  at  Paris  in  1626,  and  after 
passing  through  numerous  editions  was  recently  reissued  in 
the  'King's  Classics.'  Cresacre  More,  Sir  Thomas'  great- 
grandson,  a  pious  Catholic  layman,  published  a  fuller  biography 
about  1631;  this  was  reissued  for  the  last  time  in  1828.  The 
Letters  of  Erasmus,  Erasmi  Epistolae,  Leyden  1706,  which  J.  A. 
Froude  has  charmingly  smnmarised,  shed  invaluable  light  on 
More's  character.  Mr.  Frederic  Seebohm's  Oxford  Reformers 
(Colet,  Erasmus  and  More)  vividly  describes  More  in  relation 
to  the  religious  revolution  of  his  day.  The  latest  complete 
biography  by  the  Rev.  W.  H.  Hutton,  B.D.,  appeared  in  1895. 
The  classical  English  translation  of  More's  Utopia,  which  was 
first  published  in  1551,  has  lately  been  re-edited  by  Mr.  Churton 
Collins  for  the  Oxford  University  Press.  More's  English  works 
have  not  been  reprinted  since  they  were  first  collected  in  1557. 
The  completest  collection  of  his  Latin  works  was  issued  in  Ger- 
many in  1689]. 


Sir  Thomas  More   was  a  Londoner.     He  was  born  in  the 

heart  of  the  capital,  in  Milk  Street,  Cheapside,  not  far  from 

Bread  Street,  where  Milton  was  born  more  than  a    , 

More  s 
century  later.     The  year  of  More's  birth  carries    birth,  7th 
^  "^  Feb.  1478. 

US  back  to  1478,  to  the  end  of  the  Middle  Ages,  to 

the   year   when   the   Renaissance  was   looming  on   England's 

intellectual  horizon,  but  was   as   yet  shedding  a  vague   and 

B  17 


18  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

flickering  light.  The  centre  of  European  culture  was  in 
distant  Florence,  and  England's  interests  at  home  were  still 
mainly  absorbed  by  civil  strife.  Though  by  1478  the  acutest 
phases  of  that  warfare  were  passed,  it  was  not  effectually 
stemmed  till  Henry  vii.  triumphed  at  Bosworth  Field  and 
More  was  seven  years  old.  Much  else  was  to  change  before 
opportunity  for  great  achievement  should  be  offered  More 
in  his  maturity. 

It  was  in  association  with  men  and  movements  for  the 
most  part  slightly  younger  than  himself  that  More  first 
figured  on  life's  stage.  He  set  forth  on  life  in  the  vanguard 
of  the  advancing  army  of  contemporary  progress,  but  des- 
tiny decreed  that  death  should  find  him  at  the  head  of  the 
opposing  forces  of  reaction. 

Of  the  leading  actors  in  the  drama  in  which  More  was  to 

play  his  great  part,  two  were  at  the  time  of  his  birth  unborn, 

and  two  were  in  infancy.      Luther,  the  practical 
Senior  of 
Luther  and     leader  of  the  religious  revolution  by  which  More's 

career  was  moulded,  did  not  come  into  the  world 

until  More  was  five;  nor  until  he  was  thirteen  was  there  born 

Henry  viii.,  the  monarch  to  whom  he  owed  his  martyrdom. 

To  only  two  of  the  men  with  whom  he  conspicuously  worked 

was  he  junior.     Erasmus,  one  of  the  chief  emanci- 
The  junior 

of  Erasmus  pators  of  the  reason,  from  whom  More  derived 
andWolsey.       .        _  ...  ,  .  .it 

abundant    mspiration,    was    his    senior    by    eleven 

years;  Wolsey,  the  political  priest,  who  was  to  give  England 
ascendancy  in  Europe  and  to  offer  More  the  salient  oppor- 
tunities of  his  career,  was  seven  years  his  senior. 

One   spacious   avenue  to   intellectual   progress   was   indeed 

in   readiness   for  More  and  his   friends   from  the 
The  inven- 
tion of  outset.     One  commanding  invention,  which  exerted 

unbounded   influence — the   introduction   into    Eng- 
land  by    Caxton    of   the   newly   invented   art   of   printing — 


SIR    THOMAS    MORE  19 

was  almost  coincident  with  More's  birth.  A  year  earlier 
Caxton  had  set  up  a  printing-office  in  Westminster^  and  pro- 
duced for  the  first  time  an  English  printed  book  there.  That 
event  had  far-reaching  consequences  on  the  England  of 
More's  childhood.  The  invention  of  printing  was  to  the  six- 
teenth century  what  the  invention  of  steam  locomotion  was 
to   the   nineteenth. 

The  birth  in  England  of  the  first  of  the  two  great  in- 
fluences which  chiefly  stimulated  men's  intellectual  develop- 
mentj  during  More's  adolescence,  was  almost  simultaneous 
with  the  introduction  of  printing.  Greek  learning  and  lit- 
erature were  first  taught  in  the  country  at  Oxford  in  the 
seventh  decade  of  the  fifteenth  century.  It  was  not  till  the 
last  decade  of  that  century  that  European  explorers  set  foot 
in  the  New  World  of  America,  and  by  compelling  men  to 
reconsider  their  notion  of  the  universe  and  pre-existing 
theories  of  the  planet  to  which  they  were  born,  completed 
the  inauguration  of  the  new  era  of  which  More  was  the 
earliest  English  hero. 


II 

More's  family  belonged  to  the  professional  classes,  whose 
welfare  depends  for  the  most  part  on  no  extraneous  advan- 
tages of  inherited  rank  or  wealth,  but  on  personal  More's 
ability  and  application.  His  father  was  a  bar-  i^*^^^- 
rister  who  afterwards  became  a  judge.  Of  humble  origin 
he  acquired  a  modest  fortune.  His  temperament  was  singu- 
larly modest  and  gentle,  but  he  was  blessed  with  a  quiet 
sense  of  humour  which  was  one  of  his  son's  most  notable 
inheritances.  The  father  had  a  wide  experience  of  matri- 
mony, having  been  thrice  married,  and  he  is  credited  with 
the  ungallant  remark  that  a  man  taking  a  wife  is  like  one 


20  GREAT  ENGLISHMEN 

putting  his  hand  into  a  bag  of  snakes  with  one  eel  among 
them;  he  may  light  on  the  eel^  but  it  is  a  hundred  chances 
to  one  that  he  shall  be  stung  by  a  snake. 

Of  the  great  English  public  schools  only  two — Winchester 
and  Eton — were  in  existence  when  More  was  a  boy,  and  they 
At  school  ^^^  ^^^  y^^  acquired  a  national  repute.  Up  to 
in  London.  ^^^  ^^^  ^^  thirteen  More  attended  a  small  day 
school — the  best  of  its  kind  in  London.  It  was  St.  An- 
thony's school  in  Threadneedle  Street,  and  was  attached 
to  St.  Anthony's  Hospital,  a  religious  and  charitable  founda- 
tion for  the  residence  of  twelve  poor  men.  Latin  was  the 
sole  means  and  topic  of  instruction. 

Cardinal  Morton,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  was  wont 
to  admit  to  his  household  boys  of  good  family,  to  wait  on 
In  the  him,    and    to    receive   instruction    from    his    chap- 

thrArch-  lains.  More's  father  knew  the  Archbishop  and 
bishop.  requested  him  to  take  young  Thomas   More  into 

his  service.  The  boy's  wit  and  towardness  delighted  the 
Archbishop.  *  At  Christmastide  he  would  sometimes  sud- 
denly step  in  among  the  players  and  masquers  who  made 
merriment  for  the  Archbishop,  and,  never  studying  for  the 
matter,  would  extemporise  a  part  of  his  own  presently  among 
them,  which  made  the  lookers-on  more  sport  than  all  the 
players  besides.'  The  Archbishop,  impressed  by  the  lad's 
alertness  of  intellect,  *  would  often  say  of  him  to  the  nobles 
that  divers  times  dined  with  him  "  This  child  here  writing 
at  the  table,  whoever  shall  live  to  see  it,  will  prove  a 
marvellous  man."  ' 

The  Archbishop  arranged  with  More's  father  to  send  him 

to    the    University   of    Oxford,    and,    when   little   more   than 

fourteen,  he  entered  Canterbury  Hall,  a  collegiate 
At  Oxford.  J  }  & 

establishment  which   was   afterwards   absorbed   in 

Cardinal  Wolsey's  noble  foundation  of  Christ  Church. 


SIR    THOMAS    MORE  21 

More's  allowance  while  an  Oxford  student  was  small. 
Without  money  to  bestow  on  amusements,  he  spent  his  time 
in  study  to  the  best  advantage.  At  Oxford  More  came  under 
the  two  main  influences  that  dominated  his  life. 

Oxford  has  often  been  called  by  advanced  spirits  in  Eng- 
land the  asylum  of  lost  causes,  but  those  who  call  her  so 
have  studied  her  history  superficially.  Oxford  is 
commonly  as  ready  to  offer  a  home  to  new  intel-  influence 
lectual  movements  as  faithfully  to  harbour  old 
causes.  Oxford  has  a  singular  faculty  of  cultivating  the  old 
and  the  new  side  by  side  with  a  parallel  enthusiasm.  The 
university,  when  More  knew  it,  was  proving  its  capacity  in 
both  the  old  and  the  new  directions.  It  was  giving  the  first 
public  welcome  in  England  to  the  new  learning,  to  the 
revival  of  classical,  and  notably  of  Greek,  study.  It  was 
helping  to  introduce  the  modern  English  world  to  Attic  lit- 
erature, the  most  artistically  restrained,  the  most  brilliantly 
perspicuous  body  of  literature  that  has  yet  been  contrived 
by  the  human  spirit.  Greek  had  been  lately  taught  there 
for  the  first  time  by  an  Italian  visitor,  while  several  Oxford 
students  had  just  returned  from  Italy  burdened  with  the 
results  of  the  new  study.  More  came  under  the  travelled 
scholars'  sway,  and  his  agile  mind  was  filled  with  zeal  to 
assimilate  the  stimulating  fruits  of  pagan  intellect.  He  read 
Greek  and  Latin  authors  with  avidity,  and  essayed  original 
compositions  in  their  tongues.  His  scholarship  was  never 
very  exact,  but  the  instinct  of  genius  revealed  to  him  almost 
at  a  glance  the  secrets  of  the  classical  words.  His  Latin 
verse  was  exceptionally  facile  and  harmonious.  French  came 
to  him  with  little  trouble,  and,  in  emulation  of  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  Athenian  Academy,  he  sought  recreation  in 
music,  playing  with  skill  on  the  viol  and  the  flute. 

His  conservative  father,  who  knew  no  Greek,  was  alarmed 


22  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

by  his  son's  enthusiasm  for  learning,  which  did  not  come 
within  his  own  cognisance.  He  feared  its  influence  on  the 
boy's  religious  orthodoxy,  and  deemed  it  safer  to  transfer 
A  student  ^^°^  ^^  ^^^  study  of  law.  Recalling  him  from 
of  law.  Oxford,  he  sent  him  to  an  Inn  of  Court  in  Lon- 

don before  he  was  twenty,  to  pursue  his  own  legal  profes- 
sion. More,  with  characteristic  complacency,  adapted  him- 
self to  his  new  environment.  Within  a  year  or  two  he  proved 
himself  an  expert  and  a  learned  lawyer. 

But  his   father  had  misunderstood  Oxford,  and  had  mis- 
understood his  son.     At  the  same  time  as  the  youth  imbibed 

at  Oxford  a  passion  for  the  new  learning,  he  had 
Spiritual 
question-        also  imbibed  a  passion  there  for  the  old  religion. 

Oxford,  with  its  past  traditions  of  unswerving 
fidelity  to  the  Catholic  Church,  had  made  More  a  religious 
enthusiast  at  the  same  time  as  her  recent  access  of  intel- 
lectual enlightenment  had  made  him  a  zealous  humanist. 
While  he  was  a  law  student  in  London,  the  two  influences 
fought  for  supremacy  in  his  mind.  He  extended  his  know- 
ledge of  Greek,  making  the  acquaintance  of  other  Oxford 
students  with  like  interests  to  his  own.  Colet,  Linacre,  Gro- 
cyn,  and  Lily,  all  of  whom  had  drunk  deep  of  the  new 
culture  of  the  Renaissance,  became  his  closest  associates.  He 
engaged  with  them  in  friendly  rivalry  in  rendering  epigrams 
from  the  Greek  anthology  into  Latin,  and  he  read  for  himself 
the  works  of  the  great  Florentine  humanist  and  mystical 
philosopher,  Pico  della  Mirandola,  who  had  absorbed  the 
idealistic  teachings  of  Plato.  But  spiritual  questionings  at 
the  same  time  disturbed  him.  Every  day  he  devoted  many 
hours  to  spiritual  exercises.  He  fasted,  he  prayed,  he  kept 
vigils,  he  denied  himself  sleep,  he  wore  a  shirt  of  hair  next 
his  skin,  he  practised  all  manner  of  austerities.  He  gave 
lectures    on    St.    Augustine's    Christian   ideal   of   a   *  City   of 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  23 

God  '  in  a  London  city  church ;  he  began  to  think  that  the 
priesthood  was  his  vocation. 

But  before  he  was  twenty-five  he  had  arrived  at  a  dif- 
ferent conclusion.  He  resolved  to  remain  at  the  bar  and  in 
secular  life;  he  thought  he  had  discovered  a  via  media 
whereby  he  could  maintain  allegiance  to  his  two-fold  faith 
in  Catholicism  and  in  humanism.  The  breadth  of  his  in- 
tellect permitted  him  the  double  enthusiasm,  although  the 
liability  of  conflict  between  the  two  was  always  great.  While 
moderating  his  asceticism,  he  continued  scrupulously  regular 
in  all  the  religious  observances  expected  of  a  pious  Catholic. 
But  he  pursued  at  the  same  time  his  study  of  Lucian  and 
the  Greek  anthology,  of  Pico  della  Mirandola  and  the  phi- 
losophic humanists  of  modern  Italy.  He  made,  to  his  own 
satisfaction,  a  working  reconciliation  between  the  old  religion 
and  the  new  learning,  and  imagined  that  he  could  devote 
his  life  to  the  furtherance  of  both  causes  at  once.  There 
was  in  the  resolve  a  fatal  miscalculation  of  the  force  of  his 
religious  convictions.  There  was  inconsistency  in  the  en- 
deavour to  serve  two  masters.  But  miscalculation  and  in- 
consistency were  the  moving  causes  of  the  vicissitudes  of 
Thomas  More's  career. 


m 

Probably  the  main  cause  of  More's   resolve  to   adhere  to 
the  paths  of  humanism,  when  his  religious   fervour  inclined 

him  to  abandon  them,  was  his  introduction  to  the 

The  influ- 

great  scholar  of  the  European  Renaissance,  Eras-     enceof 

Erasmus. 

mus,  who  came  on  a  first  visit  to  England  about 

the  year  that  More  reached  his  majority.  Erasmus,  a 
Dutchman  about  eleven  years  More's  senior,  became  a  first- 
rate  Greek   scholar  when   a  student   at   Paris,   and   gained   a 


24  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

thorough  mastery  of  all  classical  learning  and  literature. 
Taking  priest's  orders  he  was  soon  a  learned  student  of 
divinity,  and  an  enlightened  teacher  alike  of  profane  and 
sacred  letters.  His  native  temperament  preserved  him  from 
any  tincture  of  pedantry,  and  implanted  in  him  a  perennially 
vivid  interest  in  every  aspect  of  human  endeavour  and  ex- 
perience. Above  all  things  he  was  a  penetrating  critic — 
a  critic  of  life  as  well  as  of  literature,  and  he  was  able 
to  express  his  critical  views  with  an  airiness,  a  charm,  a 
playfulness  of  style,  which  secured  for  his  conclusions  a 
far  wider  acceptance  than  was  possible  to  a  more  formal, 
more  serious,  and  more  crabbed  presentation.  He  was  an 
adept  in  the  use  of  banter  and  satire,  when  exposing  the 
abuses  and  absurdities  whether  of  religious  or  secular  society 
of  his  time.  But  he  met  with  the  usual  fate  of  independent 
and  level-headed  critics  to  whom  all  extremes  are  obnoxious, 
and  whose  temperament  forbids  them  to  identify  themselves 
with  any  distinctly  organised  party  or  faction.  In  the  re- 
ligious conflicts  of  the  hour  Erasmus  stood  aloof  from  Pro- 
testant revolutionaries  like  Luther,  and  from  Orthodox  cham- 
pions at  the  Paris  Sorbonne  of  the  ancient  faith  of  papal 
Rome.  In  the  struggle  over  the  progress  of  humanistic 
learning,  he  treated  with  equal  disdain  those  who  set  their 
faces  against  the  study  of  pagan  writers,  and  those  who 
argued  that  the  human  intellect  should  be  exclusively  nur- 
tured on  servile  imitation  of  classical  style.  As  a  conse- 
quence Erasmus  was  denounced  by  all  parties,  but  he  was 
unmoved  by  clamour,  and  remained  faithful  to  his  idiosyn- 
crasy to  the  last.  In  the  era  of  the  Renaissance  he  did  as 
much  as  any  man  to  free  humanity  from  the  bonds  of  super- 
stition, and  to  enable  it  to  give  free  play  to  its  reasoning 
faculties. 

Erasmus   spent  much  time  in   England  while   More's   life 


SIR   THOMAS    MORE  25 

was   at   its   prime,   and   the   two   men   became   the   closest   of 

friends.      Erasmus   at   once   acknowledged   More's 

Erasmus'3 
fascination.      '  My    affection    for    the    man    is    so    friendship 
.  for  More, 

great,  he  wrote,  m  the  early  days  oi  their  ac- 
quaintance, *  that  if  he  bade  me  dance  a  hornpipe,  I  should 
do  at  once  what  he  bid  me.'  Until  death  separated  them, 
their  love  for  one  another  knew  no  change.  Erasmus's  en- 
lightened influence  and  critical  frankness  off'ered  the  stimulus 
that  More's  genius  needed  to  sustain  his  faith  in  humanism 
at  the  moment  that  it  was  threatened  by  his  religious  zeal. 

Neither   More's   spiritual  nor  his   intellectual  interests   de- 
tached him  from  practical  aflfairs.     His  progress  at  the  bar 
was  rapid,  and  after  the  customary  manner  of  Eng- 
lish barristers,  he  sought  to  improve  his  worldly    bar  and  in 

....  ,  Parliament. 

position  by  going  into  politics  and  obtaining  a  seat 

in  Parliament.  He  was  a  bold  and  independent  speaker,  and 
quickly  made  his  mark  by  denouncing  King  Henry  vii.'s  heavy 
taxation  of  the  people.  A  ready  ear  was  given  to  his  argu- 
ment by  fellow  members  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  they 
negatived,  at  his  suggestion,  one  of  the  many  royal  appeals 
for  money.  The  King  angrily  expressed  asonishment  that  a 
beardless  boy  should  disappoint  his  purpose,  and  he  invented 
a  cause  of  quarrel  with   More's   father  by  way  of  revenge. 

IV 

Meanwhile  More  married.  As  a  wooer  he  seems  to  have 
been  more  philosophic  than  ardent.  He  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  an  Essex  gentleman  named  Colte,  who 
had  three  daughters,  and  the  second  daughter, 
whom  he  deemed  '  the  fairest  and  best  favoured/  moved 
affection  in  More.  But  the  young  philosopher  curbed  his 
passion ;  he  *  considered  that  it  would  be  both  great  grief 
and  some  shame  also  to  the  eldest  to  see  her  younger  sister 


26  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

preferred  before  her  in  marriage.'  Accordingly  '  of  a  certain 
pity '  he  '  framed  his  fancy  towards  '  the  eldest  daughter, 
Jane.  He  married  her  in  1505.  The  union,  if  the  fruit  of 
compassion,  was  most  satisfactory  in  result.  His  wife  was 
very  young,  and  quite  uneducated,  but  More  was  able,  ac- 
cording to  his  friend  Erasmus,  to  shape  her  character  after 
his  own  pattern.  Teaching  her  books  and  music,  he  made 
her  a  true  companion.  Acquiring  a  house  in  the  best  part 
of  the  City  of  London,  in  Bucklersbury,  More  delighted  in 
his  new  domestic  life.  He  reckoned  'the  enjoyment  of  his 
family  a  necessary  part  of  the  business  of  the  man  who  does 
not  wish  to  be  a  stranger  in  his  own  house,'  and  such  leisure 
as  his  professional  work  allowed  him  was  happily  divided 
between  the  superintendence  of  his  household  and  literary 
study.  Unluckily  his  wife  died  six  years  after  marriage. 
She  left  him  with  a  family  of  four  children.  More  lost  no 
His  second  time  in  supplying  her  place.  His  second  wife 
^^^-  was   a   widow,   who,   he   would   often   say   with   a 

laugh,  was  neither  beautiful  nor  well  educated.  She  lacked 
one  desirable  faculty  in  a  wife,  the  ability  to  appreciate  her 
husband's  jests.  But  she  had  the  virtues  of  a  good  house- 
wife, and  ministered  to  More's  creature  comforts.  He  ruled 
her,  according  to  his  friend  Erasmus,  with  caresses  and  with 
jokes  the  point  of  which  she  missed.  Thus  he  kept  her  sharp 
tongue  under  better  control  than  sternness  and  assertion  of 
authority  could  achieve.  With  characteristic  sense  of  humour. 
More  made  her  learn  harp,  cithern,  guitar  and  (it  is  said) 
flute,  and  practise  in  his  presence  every  day. 

More,  after  his  second  marriage,  removed  from  the  bustling 
centre  of  London  to  what  was  then  the  peaceful  riverside 
Settlement  li^mlet  of  Chelsea.  There  he  lived  in  simple 
at  Chelsea.  patriarchal  fashion,  surrounded  by  his  children. 
Ostentation   was   abhorrent  to   him,   but   he   quietly   gratified 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  27 

his    love    for    art   and  literature    by    collecting    pictures    and 

books. 

More  prospered  in  his  profession.     The  small  legal  post 

of  Under-sheriff,  which  he  obtained  from  the  Corporation  of 

London,  brought  him  into  relations  with  the  mer- 

*=  Under- 

chants,  who   admired   his  quickness   of  wit.      The    Sheriff  of 

London, 
(jrovernment  was  contemplatmg  a  new  commercial 

treaty  with  Flanders,  and  required  the  assistance  of  a  repre- 
sentative of  London's  commercial  interest  with  a  view  to 
improving  business  relations  with  the  Flemings.  More  was 
recommended  for  the  post  by  a  city  magnate  to  Henry  viii.'s 
great  Minister,  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and  he  received  the  ap- 
pointment. Thus,  not  long  after  he  had  fallen  under  the 
sway  of  the  greatest  intellectual  leader  of  the  day,  Erasmus, 
did  he  first  come  under  the  notice  of  the  great  political 
chieftain. 


But  for  the  present  Wolsey  and  More  worked  out  their 

destinies  apart.     The  duties  of  the  new  office  required  More 

to  leave  England.     For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 

First  visit 
was  brought  face  to  face  with  Continental  culture,     to  the 

TTi.n  1..  '        1  ..  n-r»  Continent. 

He  chiefly  spent  his  time  m  the  cities  or  Bruges, 
Brussels  and  Antwerp,  all  of  which  were  northern  strong- 
holds of  the  art  and  literature  of  the  Italian  Renaissance. 
More's  interests  were  widened  and  stimulated  by  the  en- 
lightened society  into  which  he  was  thrown.  But  he  had 
his  private  difficulties.  His  salary  was  small  for  a  man  with 
a  growing  family,  and  he  humorously  expressed  regret  at  the 
inconsiderateness  of  his  wife  and  children  in  failing  to  fast 
from  food  in  his  absence. 

But,   however   ill   More   was   remunerated   at   the   moment. 


28  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

this   first   visit   to   the    Continent   invigorated,    if   it   did   not 

create,  a  new  ideal  of  life,  and  impelled  him  to 
Social  re- 
creation at      offer  his  fellow-men  a  new  counsel  of  perfection, 

which,  although  it  had  little  bearing  on  the  practi- 
cal course  of  his  own  affairs,  powerfully  affected  his  reputa- 
tion with  posterity.  At  Antwerp  More  met  a  thoroughly 
congenial  companion,  the  great  scholar  of  France  and  friend 
of  Erasmus,  Peter  Giles  or  Egidius.  Versatility  of  interest 
was  a  mark  of  Renaissance  scholarship.  With  Giles,  More 
discussed  not  merely  literary  topics  but  also  the  contempo- 
rary politics  and  the  social  conditions  of  England  and  the 
Continent.  In  the  course  of  the  debates  the  notion  of 
sketching  an  imaginary  commonwealth,  which  should  be 
freed  from  the  defects  of  existing  society,  entered  More's 
brain. 

VI 

From  Antwerp  More  brought  back  the  first  draft  of  his 
Utopia.     That  draft  ultimately  formed  the  second  book  of 

the  completed  treatise.  But  the  first  and  shorter 
First  draft 

of  the  book  which  he  penned  after  his  return  home  merely 

Utopia. 

served   the  purpose   of    a   literary   preface  to  the 

full  and  detailed  exposition  of  the  political  and  social  ideals 
which  his  foreign  tour  had  conjured  up  in  his  active  mind. 

Increasing  practice  at  the  Bar,  and  the  duties  of  his 
judicial  oflBce  in  the  City,  delayed  the  completion  of  the 
Utopia,  which  was  not  published  till  the  end  of  1516,  a  year 
after  More's  return. 

The  Utopia  of  Sir  Thomas  More  is  the  main  monument 
of  his  genius.     It  is  as  admirable  in  literary  form  as  it  is 

original  in  thought.     It  displays  a  mind  revelling 
Detach- 
ment of  the    in  the   power  of   detachment   from  the   sentiment 
Utopia.  . 

and  the  prejudices  which  prevailed  in  his  personal 

environment.     To  a  large  extent  this  power  of  detachment 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  29 

was  bred  of  his  study  of  Greek  literature.  Plato,  the  great 
philosopher  of  Athens,  had  sketched  in  detail  an  imaginary 
republic  which  was  governed  solely  by  regard  for  the  moral 
and  material  welfare  of  the  citizens.  To  Plato's  republic  is 
traceable  More's  central  position.  Equality  in  all  things  is 
the  one  and  only  way  to  ensure  the  well-being  of  a  com- 
munity. All  men  should  enjoy  equal  possessions  and  equal 
opportunities.  On  that  revolutionary  text,  which  defied  the 
established  bases  of  contemporary  society.  More  preached 
a  new  and  unconventional  discourse  which  ranks  with  the 
supreme  manifestations  of  intellectual  fertility. 


VII 

The  prefatory  book  of  the  Utopia  is  a  vivid  piece  of  fiction 
which  Defoe  could  not  have  excelled.  More  relates  how  he 
accidentally  came  upon  his  scholarly  friend  Peter  The  First 
Giles  in  the  streets  of  Antwerp,  in  conversation  ^°°  • 
with  an  old  sailor  named  Raphael  Hythlodaye.  The  sailor 
had  lately  returned  from  a  voyage  to  the  New  World  under 
the  command  of  Amerigo  Vespucci,  America's  eponymous 
hero.  Raphael  had  been  impressed  by  the  beneficent  forms 
of  government  which  prevailed  in  the  New  World.  He 
had  also  visited  England,  and  had  noted  social  evils  there 
which  called  for  speedy  redress.  The  degradation  of  the 
masses  was  sapping  the  strength  of  the  country.  Capital 
punishment  was  the  invariable  penalty  for  robbery,  and  it 
was  difficult  to  supply  sufficient  gibbets  whereon  to  hang 
the  offenders.  The  prevalence  of  crime  Raphael  assigned 
to  want  of  employment  among  the  poor,  to  the  idleness  and 
the  luxury  of  the  well-to-do,  to  the  recklessness  with  which 
the  rulers  engaged  in  war,  and  to  the  readiness  with  which 
merchants  were  converting  arable  land  into  pasture;  villages 


30  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

were  laid  waste  and  the  opportunity  of  labour  was  greatly 
diminished  in  order  to  fill  the  coffers  of  capitalists.  Dis- 
charged soldiers,  troops  of  dismissed  retainers  from  the 
households  of  the  nobility  and  gentry,  who,  after  a  life  of 
idleness,  were  thrown  on  their  own  resources,  ploughmen  and 
peasants,  whose  services  were  no  longer  required  by  the 
sheep-farmers,  perilously  swelled  the  ranks  of  the  unem- 
ployed and  made  thieving  the  only  means  of  livelihood  for 
thousands  of  the  population.  A  more  even  distribution  of 
wealth  was  necessary  to  the  country's  salvation.  To  this 
end  were  necessary  the  enjoyment  of  the  blessings  of  peace, 
restrictions  on  the  cupidity  of  the  capitalist,  improved  edu- 
cation of  the  humbler  classes,  and  the  encouragement  of  new 
industries.  Crime  could  be  restrained  by  merciful  laws  more 
effectually  than  by  merciless  statutes. 

This  fearless  and  spirited  exposure  of  the  demoralisation 
of  English  society,  which  is  set  in  the  mouth  of  the  sailor 

from  the  world  beyond  the  Atlantic,  potently  illus- 
The  ideal  -^  .  ^  i:'  J 

of  the  New  trates  the  stimulus  to  thouffht  in  the  social  and 
World.  ,.^.     ,  ,  ,  .  ,  "^  ^ 

political    sphere    which    sprang    from   the    recent 

maritime  discoveries.  The  abuses  which  time  had  fostered 
in  the  Old  World  could  alone  be  dispersed  by  acceptance 
of  the  unsophisticated  principles  of  the  New  World.  The 
sailor's  auditors  eagerly  recognise  the  worth  of  his  sugges- 
tions, and  the  sailor  promises  to  report  to  them  the  political 
and  social  institutions  which  are  in  vogue  in  the  land  of 
perfection  across  the  seas.  He  had  lived  in  such  a  coun- 
try. He  had  made  his  way  to  the  island  of  Utopia  when, 
on  his  last  voyage,  he  had  been  left  behind  by  his  comrades 
at  his  own  wish  on  the  South  American  coast  near  Cape  Frio, 
off  Brazil. 

The  second  book  of  More's  Utopia  describes  the  ideal  com- 
monwealth of  this  imaginary  island  of  No-where   (Ov   tottos), 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  31 

and  in  it  culminate  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  all  Renais- 
sance students  of  current  politics  and  society.  The  constitu- 
tion of  the  country  is  an  elective  monarchy,  but  the  prince 

can  be  deposed  if  he  falls  under  suspicion  of  seek- 

^  ^  The  Second 

ing   to   enslave   the   people.      War  is   regarded  as     Book  of  the 

inglorious,  and  no  leagues  or  treaties  with  foreign 
powers  are  permitted.  The  internal  economy  is  of  an  ex- 
ceptionally enlightened  kind.  The  sanitary  arrangements  in 
towns  are  the  best  imaginable.  The  streets  are  broad  and 
well  watered.  Every  house  has  a  garden.  Slaughter-houses 
are  placed  outside  the  wall.  Hospitals  are  organised  on 
scientific  principles.  The  isolation  of  persons  suffering  from 
contagious  diseases  is  imperative. 

The  mind  is  as  wisely  cared  for  as  the  body.  All  children 
whether  girls  or  boys  are  thoroughly  and  wisely  educated. 
They  are  apt  to  learn,  and  find  much  attraction  in  ^^^.^  ^^ 
Greek  authors,  even  in  Lucian's  merry  conceits  the  mind, 
and  jests.  At  the  same  time  labour  is  an  universal  condition 
of  life.  Every  man  has  to  work  at  a  craft,  as  well  as  to  devote 
some  time  each  day  to  husbandry,  but  no  human  being  is 
permitted  to  become  a  mere  beast  of  burden.  The  hours  of 
manual  labour  are  strictly  limited  to  six  a  day.  A  large 
portion  of  the  people's  leisure  is  assigned  to  intellectual  pur- 
suits, to  studies  which  liberalise  the  mind.  Offenders  against 
law  and  order  are  condemned  to  bondage.  But  redemption 
was  assured  bondmen  when  they  gave  satisfactory  promise 
of  mending  their  ways,  and  of  making  fit  use  of  liberty. 

Contempt  for  silver  and  gold  and  precious  stones  is  espe- 
cially characteristic  of  the  Utopians.     Diamonds  and  pearls 
are   treated   as    children's    playthings.      Criminals    Contempt 
are  chained  with  golden  fetters  by  way  of  indi-    precious 
eating  the  disrepute  attaching  to  the  metal.     Am-    ^^^als. 
bassadors  arriving  in  Utopia  from  other  countries  with  golden 


32  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

chains  about  their  necks^  and  wearing  robes  ornamented 
with  pearls,  are  mistaken  by  the  Utopians  for  degraded 
bondmen,  who  among  the  Utopians  are  wont  to  cherish  in 
adult  years  a  childish  love  for  toys. 

To  find  happiness  in  virtuous  and  reasonable  pleasure  is 
the  final  aim  of  the  Utopian  scheme  of  life.  The  Utopians 
Utopian  declare  that  '  the  felicity  of  man  '  consists  in  plea- 

philosophy.  gyj.g  B^^.  <  ^jjgy  ^jjink  not;  More  adds,  *  felicity 
to  consist  in  all  pleasure  but  only  in  that  pleasure  that  is 
good  and  honest.'  They  define  virtue  to  be  '  life  ordered 
according  to  nature,  and  that  we  be  hereunto  ordained  even 
of  God.  And  that  he  doth  follow  the  course  of  nature, 
who  in  desiring  and  refusing  things  is  ruled  by  reason.' 
The  watchword  of  Utopia  declares  reason  and  reason  alone 
to  be  the  safe  guide  of  life.  Even  in  the  religious  sphere, 
principles  of  reason's  fashioning  are  carried  to  logical  con- 
clusions without  hesitation,  or  condition. 

The  official  religion  of  More's  imaginary  world  is  pure 
Pantheism.  But  differences  on  religious  questions  are  per- 
Utopian  mittcd.     The  essence  of  the  Utopian  faith  is  '  that 

rehgion.  there  is  a  certain  godly  power  unknown,  far  above 

the  capacity  and  reach  of  man's  wit,  dispersed  throughout 
all  the  world,  not  in  bigness,  but  in  virtue  and  power.  Him 
they  call  Father  of  all.  To  Him  alone  they  attribute  the 
beginnings,  the  increasings,  the  proceedings,  the  changes, 
and  the  ends  of  all  things.  Neither  give  they  any  divine 
honours  to  any  other  than  Him.'  The  state  organises  public 
worship  of  an  elementary  Pantheistic  pattern.  It  only  con- 
cerns itself  with  first  principles  about  which  differences  of 
opinion  are  barely  conceivable.  In  other  regards  differences 
of  view  are  encouraged. 

Nowhere  indeed  has  the  great  doctrine  of  religious  tolera- 
tion   been    expounded    with    greater    force    or    fulness    than 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  S3 

in  the  Utopia.  The  bases  of  morality  are  duly  safeguarded, 
but  otherwise  every  man  in  Utopia  is  permitted  to  cherish 
without  hindrance  the  religious  belief  that  is  adapted  to  his 
idiosyncraey.  Reason,  the  sole  test  of  beneficent  rule,  justi- 
fies no  other  provision. 

VIII 

More  wrote  his  romance  of  Utopia  in  Latin,  and  addressed 
it  to  the  educated  classes  of  Europe.     It  was  published  at 
the  end  of  1516,  at  Louvain,  a  prominent  centre     Utopia 
of  academic  learning.     A  new  edition  came  four     o^^he 
months  later  from  a  famous  press  of  Paris,  and    Continent. 
then   within    a   year   the    scholar   printer,    Froben   of    Basle, 
produced  a  luxurious  reissue  under  the  auspices  of  Erasmus 
and    with   illustrations    by    Erasmus's    friend    and    chief    ex- 
ponent of  Renaissance  art  in  Germany,  Hans  Holbein.     The 
brightest  influences   of  the  new  culture   pronounced   fervent 
benedictions    on    the   printed    book,    and   the    epithets    which 
the  publishers  bestowed  on  its  title-page,  *  aureus,'  '  salutaris,' 
*  festivus  ' — golden,  healthful,  joyous — were  well  adapted  to 
a  manifesto  from  every  sentence  of  which  radiated  the  light 
and  hope  of  social  progress. 

None  who  read  the  Utopia  can  deny  that  its  author  drank 
deep  of  the  finest  spirit  of  his  age.  None  can  question  that 
he  foresaw  the  main  lines  along  which  the  political  and 
social  ideals  of  the  Renaissance  would  develop  in  the  future. 
There  is  hardly  a  scheme  of  social  or  political  reform  that 
has  been  enunciated  in  later  epochs  of  which  there  is  no 
definite  adumbration  in  More's  pages.  But  he  who  passes 
hastily  from  the  speculations  of  More's  Utopia  to  the  record 
of  More's  subsequent  life  and  writings  will  experience  a 
strange  shock.  Nowhere  else  is  he  likely  to  be  faced  by 
so  sharp  a  contrast  between  precept   and  practice,   between 

C 


34  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

enlightened  and  vivifying  theory  in  the  study  and  adherence 

in    the    work-a-day    world    to    the    unintelligent    routine    of 

bigotry  and  obscurantism.     By  the  precept  and  theory  of  his 

Utopia,  More  cherished  and  added  power  to  the  new  light. 

By  his  practical  conduct  in  life  he  sought  to  extinguish  the 

illuminating  forces  to  which  his  writing  offered  fuel. 

The  facts  of  the  situation  are  not  open  to  question.     More 

was   long   associated   in   the   government   of   his    country   on 

^  principles  which  in  the  Utopia  he  condemned.     He 

Contrast  x-  r-  r 

between  acquiesced  in   a  system   of  rule  which  rested  on 

Utopian  ^                                 "^ 

precepts  inequalities    of    rank    and    wealth,    and    made   no 

andMore's  ■,...■,                            t        i            i 

personal  endeavour  to  dimmish  poverty.     In  the  sphere  of 

religion  More's  personal  conduct  most  conspicu- 
ously conflicted  with  the  aspirations  of  his  Utopians.  So 
far  from  regarding  Pantheism,  or  any  shape  of  undogmatic 
religion,  as  beneficial,  he  lost  no  opportunity  of  denouncing 
it  as  sinful;  he  regarded  the  toleration  in  practical  life  of 
differences  on  religious  questions  as  sacrilegious.  He  ac- 
tively illustrated  more  than  once  his  faith  in  physical  coercion 
or  punishment  as  a  means  of  bringing  men  to  a  sense  of  the 
only  religion  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  true.  Into  his 
idealistic  romance  he  had  introduced  a  saving  clause  to  the 
effect  that  he  was  not  at  one  with  his  Utopians  at  all  points. 
He  gave  no  indication  that  by  the  conduct  of  his  personal 
life  he  ranked  himself  with  their  strenuous  foes. 

The  discrepancy  is  not  satisfactorily  accounted  for  by  the 
theory  that  his   political  or  religious   views   suffered  change 

after  the  Utopia  was  written.  No  man  adhered 
The  Utopia  ^ 

a  dream  more  rigidly  through  life  to  the  religious  tenets 

of  fancy. 

that  he  had  adopted  in  youth.     From  youth  to  age 

his  dominant  hope  was  to  fit  himself  for  the  rewards  in  a 
future  life  of  honest  championship  of  the  Catholic  Christian 
faith.      No   man   was   more   consistently   conservative   in   his 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  35 

attitude  to  questions  of  current  politics.  He  believed  in  the 
despotic  principle  of  government  and  the  inevitableness  of 
class  distinctions.  But  the  breadth  of  his  intellectual  temper 
admitted  him  also  to  regions  of  speculation  which  were  be- 
yond the  range  of  any  established  religious  or  political 
doctrines.  He  was  capable  of  a  detachment  of  mind  which 
blinded  him  to  the  inconsistencies  of  his  double  part.  The 
student  of  More's  biography  cannot  set  the  Utopia  in  its 
proper  place  among  More's  achievements  unless  he  treat  it 
as  proof  of  his  mental  sensitiveness  to  the  finest  issues  of 
the  era,  as  evidence  of  his  gift  of  literary  imagination,  as 
an  impressively  fine  play  of  fancy,  which  was  woven  by  the 
writer  far  away  from  his  own  work-a-day  world  in  a  realm 
which  was  not  bounded  by  facts  or  practical  affairs,  as  they 
were  known  to  him.  Whatever  the  effects  of  More's  imag- 
inings on  readers,  whatever  their  practical  bearing  in  others' 
minds  on  actual  conditions  of  social  life,  the  Utopia  was  for 
its  creator  merely  a  vision,  which  melted  into  thin  air  in  his 
brain  as  he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  realities  of  life. 
When  the  dream  ended,  the  brilliant  pageant  faded  from  his 
consciousness  and  left  not  a  wrack  behind. 

IX 

Very  soon  after  the  Utopia  was  written.  More  descended 
swiftly  from  speculative  heights.     His  attention  was  absorbed 
by  the  religious  revolution  that  was  arising  in  Germany.     He 
heard  with  alarm  and  incredulity  of  the  attempt  of  Luther, 
the  monk  of  Wittenberg,  to   reform  the   Church    j)j.ead 
by   dissociating   it   from    Rome.      Like  his    friend    Lutheran 
Erasmus,   More  was  well   alive  to  the  defects  in     revolution. 
the  administration   of  the   Catholic   Church.      The   ignorance 
of  many  priests,  their  lack  of  spiritual  fervour,  their  worldly 
ambition,  their  misapprehension  of  the  significance  of  cere- 


36  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

monies,  their  soulless  teaching  of  divine  things,  all  at  times 
roused  his  resentment,  and  he  hoped  for  improvement.  But 
in  the  constitution  of  the  great  Roman  hierarchy,  under  the 
sway  of  St.  Peter's  vicegerent,  the  Pope,  he  had  unswerving 
faith.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  question  the  belief  in  the 
Pope.  Against  any  encroachment  on  the  Pope's  authority 
every  fibre  of  his  mind  and  body  was  prepared  to  resist  to 
the  last.  From  first  to  last  he  exhausted  the  language  of 
invective  in  denouncing  the  self-styled  reformers  of  religion. 
The  enlightened  principles  of  reason  and  tolerance  which 
he  had  illustrated  with  unmatchable  point  and  vivacity  in 
the  Utopia  were  ignored,  were  buried.  As  soon  as  the  papal 
claim  to  supremacy  in  matters  of  religion  was  disputed,  every 
pretension  of  the  papacy  seemed  to  take,  in  More's  mind, 
the  character  of  an  indisputable  law  of  nature.  To  chal- 
lenge it  was  to  sin  against  the  light.  No  glimmer  of  justice 
nor  of  virtue  could  his  vision  discover  in  those  who  took  an- 
other view. 

Meanwhile  More  was  steadily  building  up  a  material  for- 
tune and  practical  repute.  His  success  as  a  diplomatist  at 
Coiirt  Antwerp  reinforced  his  reputation  as  a  lawyer  in 

office.  London.     He  showed  gifts  of  oratory  which  espe- 

cially gratified  the  public  ear.  The  King's  great  minister, 
Wolsey,  anxious  to  absorb  talent  which  the  public  recognised, 
deemed  it  politic  to  offer  him  further  public  employment. 
Unexpected  favour  was  shown  him.  His  ability  and  reputa- 
tion led  to  his  appointment  to  a  prominent  Court  ofiice, 
a  Mastership  of  Requests,  or  Examiner  of  Petitions  that  were 
presented  to  the  King  on  his  progresses  through  the  country. 
The  duties  required  More  to  spend  much  time  at  Court,  and 
he  was  thus  brought  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  into  relation 
with  the  greatest  person  in  the  State — with  the  King. 

According  to  Erasmus,  More  was  *  dragged  '  into  the  circle 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  37 

of   the    Court.     '  "  Dragged "    is   the   only    word/    wrote    his 

friend,  '  for  no  one  ever  struggled  harder  to  gain    ^.^  ^^^._ 

admission  there  than   More  struggled  to  escape/    tudeto 

politics. 
Secular   politics   always    seemed  to    More   a  puny 

business.  He  always  held  a  modest  view  of  his  own  ca- 
pacities, and  despite  his  literary  professions  and  the  Utopia, 
he  never  entertained  the  notion  that  from  the  heights  of 
even  supreme  office  could  a  statesman  serve  his  country 
to  much  purpose.  By  lineage  he  was  closely  connected  with 
the  people.  No  ties  of  kinship  bound  him  to  a  privileged 
nobility.  He  instinctively  cherished  a  limited  measure  of 
popular  sympathy.  He  desired  all  classes  of  society  to  enjoy 
to  full  extent  such  welfare  as  was  inherent  in  the  estab- 
lished order  of  things.  Above  all,  he  was  by  temperament 
a  conservative.  He  had  little  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  new 
legislation  to  ameliorate  social  or  political  conditions.  He 
had  no  belief  in  heroic  or  revolutionary  statesmanship.  At 
most  the  politician  could  prevent  increase  of  evil.  He  could 
not  appreciably  enlarge  the  volume  of  the  nation's  virtue  or 
prosperity.  To  other  activities  than  those  of  statesmen,  to 
religious  and  spiritual  energy  and  endeavour.  More  alone 
looked  in  the  work-a-day  world  for  the  salvation  of  man  and 
society.  '  It  is  not  possible,'  he  wrote  complacently,  '  for 
all  things  to  be  well  unless  all  men  are  good;  which  I  think 
will  not  be  yet  these  many  years.'  Study  of  precedents, 
experience,  reliance  on  those  religious  principles  which  had 
hitherto  enjoyed  the  undivided  allegiance  of  his  countrymen, 
these  things  alone  gave  promise  of  healthful  conduct  of  the 
world's  affairs.  It  was  neither  a  fruitful  nor  a  logical  creed, 
when  applied  to  politics,  but  it  was  one  to  which  More, 
despite  the  professions  of  his  imaginary  spokesman  in  his 
great  romance,  clung  throughout  his  political  career  with 
unrelaxing  tenacity. 


38  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

The    established    principles    of    absolute    monarchy    More 

accepted    intuitively.       He    respected    the    authority    of    the 

King  with   a  whole  heart.      Henry  vin.'s  private 
His  loyalty, 

character  illustrated  the  inconsistency  of  conduct 

which  prevailed  among  the  children  of  the  Renaissance. 
He  could  be  *  wise,  amaz'd,  temperate  and  furious_,  loyal 
and  neutral  in  a  moment.'  But  there  was  much  in  Henry 
VIII. 's  personality  to  confirm  More's  instinctive  reverence  for 
the  head  of  the  State.  The  King  was  well  educated,  and 
encouraged  pursuit  of  the  New  Learning.  If  he  had  dis- 
appointed the  hopes  of  those,  who,  at  his  succession,  pro- 
phesied that  his  reign  would  inaugurate  peace  and  good-will 
at  home  and  among  the  nations,  he  was  reckoned  to  have  at 
heart,  provided  his  autocratic  pretensions  went  unquestioned, 
the  welfare  of  his  people.  His  geniality  attracted  all 
comers,  and  diverted  condenmation  of  his  sensuality  and 
tyranny.  For  the  main  dogmas  and  ceremonial  observances 
of  the  Church  of  his  fathers  he  professed  reverent  loyalty. 
The  King  bade  More,  at  the  outset  of  his  Court  career, 
look  first  unto  God,  and  after  God  unto  the  King.  Such 
conventional  counsel  was  in  complete  accord  with  More's 
working  views  of  life. 

More's  personal  fascination  at  once  put  him  on  intimate 
terms  with  his  sovereign.  His  witty  conversation,  his  wide 
knowledge,  delighted  Henry,  who  treated  his  new  counsellor 
with  much  familiarity,  often  summoning  him  to  his  private 
The  King's  ^oom  to  talk  of  science  or  divinity,  or  inviting  him 
favour.  ^Q  supper  with  the  King  and  Queen  in  order  to 

enjoy  his  merry  talk.  At  times  Henry  would  go  to  More's 
own  house  and  walk  about  the  garden  at  Chelsea  with  him. 
But  More  did  not  exaggerate  the  significance  of  these  atten- 
tions. He  had  no  blind  faith  in  the  security  of  royal  favour. 
Whatever   his   respect   for   the   kingly   office,   he    formed   no 


SIR  THOMAS   MORE  89 

exaggerated  estimate  of  the  magnanimity  of  its  holder.  '  If 
my  head  should  win  him  a  castle  in  France/  More  once  re- 
marked to  his  son-in-law,  *  it  should  not  fail  to  go.' 


More's  ascent  of  the  steps  of  the  official  ladder  was  very 
rapid.  He  was  knighted  in  the  spring  of  1521,  and  each  of 
the  ten  years  that  followed  saw  some  advance  of  Rapid  pre- 
dignity.  From  every  direction  came  opportunities  ^^rment. 
of  preferment.  The  King  manifested  the  continuance  of  his 
confidence  by  making  him  sub-Treasurer  of  the  Household. 
To  Cardinal  Wolsey's  influence  he  owed  one  session's  ex- 
perience of  the  Speakership  of  the  House  of  Commons.  He 
was  employed  on  many  more  diplomatic  missions  abroad, 
and  in  1525  became  chancellor  of  the  duchy  of  Lancaster. 

The  smiles  of  fortune  engendered  no  pride  in  More.  The 
Cardinal  expressed  surprise  that  he  did  not  press  his  advan- 
tage with  greater  energy  or  seek  larger  pecuniary  Mop^'g 
rewards  for  his  service.  Independence  was  of  ^^"^Aity. 
greater  value  to  him  than  wealth  or  titles,  and  he  made  the 
Cardinal  often  realise  that  he  was  a  fearless  if  witty  critic 
whom  no  bribe  could  convert  into  a  tool. 

Had   Wolsey   foreseen    events,   he   might   have   had    good 

ground  for   fearing  More's   advancement.     Wolsey  suddenly 

forfeited  the  royal  favour  and  was  deprived  of  his  high  office 

of  Lord  Chancellor  in  the  autumn  of  1529.     Six  days  later — 

on  25th  October — firreatlv  to  More's  surprise,  the    „ 

^  J  More  made 

King   invited   him  to   fill  the  vacant  place.      The     Lord 

^  ^  Chancellor 

post  of  Lord  Chancellor  is  the  head  of  the  legal    25th  Oct. 

profession  in  England — the  chief  judge,  the  ad- 
viser  of   the   King   in   all   legal   business,   who   is   popularly 
called  keeper  of  the  King's  conscience.     More's  appointment 
was   an   exceptional   proceeding    from   every   point   of   view. 


40  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN" 

Lord  Chancellors^  though  their  business  was  with  law,  had 
of  late  invariably  been  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  who  in  the 
middle  ages  were  the  chief  lawyers.  Doubtless  the  King's 
motive  in  promoting  to  so  high  an  office  a  man  of  compara- 
tively humble  rank  was  in  order  to  wield  greater  influence 
over  the  Chancellor,  and  to  free  himself  of  the  bonds  that 
had  been  forged  for  him  by  Wolsey,  whose  powerful  in- 
dividuality and  resolute  ambition  seems  to  find  among  modern 
statesmen  the  closest  reflection  in  Prince  Bismarck. 

More's  father,  Sir  John  More,  was  still  judge  when  he 
first  occupied  the  woolsack,  and   Sir  John  remained  on  the 

bench  till  his  death  a  year  later.      Sir   Thomas's 
More  and 
his  father       aff*ection  for  his  father  was  deep  and  lasting,  and 

during  the  first  year  of  his  Chancellorship,  while 
he  and  his  father  were  both  judges  at  the  same  time,  it  was 
the  Chancellor's  daily  practice  to  visit  his  father  in  the  lower 
court  in  order  to  ask  a  blessing  as  he  passed  down  West- 
minster Hall  on  the  way  to  his  superior  court  of  Chancery. 
With  like  humility  More  bore  himself  to  all  on  reaching 
the  goal  of  a  lawyer's  mundane  ambition.  Nor  did  his  dig- 
nities repress  his  mirthful  geniality  in  intercourse  either  with 
equals  or  inferiors. 

The  King  had  need  of  subservient  instruments  in  his  great 
offices  of  State.  He  was  contemplating  a  great  revolution 
The  King  ^^  his  own  life  and  in  the  life  of  the  nation.  He 
Refonna-  ^^^  determined  to  divorce  his  wife.  Queen  Cath- 
*^°°'  erine,  and  to  marry  another,  Anne  Boleyn.     The 

purpose  was  not  easy  of  fulfilment.  The  threatened  Queen 
had  champions  at  home  and  abroad,  with  whom  conflict  was 
perilous.  Charles  v.,  the  Emperor  of  the  Holy  Roman  Em- 
pire, Henry's  most  persistent  rival  in  his  efl'orts  to  dominate 
Europe,  was  his  wife's  nephew.  Divorce  was  a  weapon  that 
could  only  be  wielded  by  the  Pope,  and  it  was  known  that 


SIR  THOMAS   MORE  41 

the  Pontiff  was  not  inclined  to  forward  Henry's  wish.  It 
was  this  intricate  coil  of  circumstance  which  encumbered 
More's  great  elevation.  The  clouds  deepened  in  the  years 
that  followed,  and  ultimately  cast  the  shadow  of  tragedy 
over  the  tenor  of  More's  life. 

XI 

Soon  after  More  became  Chancellor,  the  King  lightly  con- 
sulted him  on  the  projected  divorce.  More  frankly  declared 
himself  opposed  to  the  King's  design.     Henry  for  , 

the  time  was  complacent,  and  told  his  new  Chan-     view  of 

the  King's 

cellor  he  was  free  to  hold  his  own  opinion.     The     projected 

divorce. 
King,    however,    never    recognised    any    obstacle, 

however  formidable  it  might  prove,  to  the  fulfilment  of  his 

will.     No  authority,  not  even  that  of  the  Pope,  was  powerful 

enouffh  to  deflect  his  settled  purpose.     To  him  the 

^  ^      ^  The  King's 

conclusion  was  inevitable  that  if  the  Pope  would    supreme 

power, 
not  go  with  him  on  an  errand  to  which  he  was 

committed,  he  must  go  without  the  Pope.     An  upheaval  of 

the  ecclesiastical  and  political  constitution  of  the  State  which 

should  put  heavy  strain  on  the  conscience  of  a  large  section 

of  his  people  was  a  price  that  Henry  was  prepared  to  pay 

with  equanimity  for  the  acomplishment  of  his  desires.     The 

sanction  of  the  papacy  was  to  be  abrogated  in  his  dominions, 

if  it  failed  to  accommodate  itself  to  the  royal  resolve. 

Apart  from  his  obstinate  faith  in  his  own  personal  power, 

the  King  knew  that  he  possessed  in  the  sympathy  which  the 

Lutheran    movement   in   Germany   bred    among   a    ^ 

•^  °  The  growth 

small  class  of  his  subjects  a  powerful  lever  which    of  Protes- 
tantism, 
might  easily  be  worked  to  bring  about  England's 

separation  from  Rome.     Hitherto  he  had  done  what  he  could 

to  discourage  the  spread  of  the  Lutheran  movement  at  home, 

and  the  mass  of  the  people  had  proved  loyal  to  the  papacy. 


42  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

But  controversy  respecting  the  precise  grounds  of  the  Pope's 
claim  in  England  to  the  supreme  authority  in  matters  of 
religion  had  already  sown  seeds  of  alienation  between  Eng- 
land and  Rome;  were  those  seeds  fostered  by  royal  influence^ 
there  would  be  placed  in  the  royal  hand  a  formidable  weapon 
of  offence.  The  cry  of  national  independence  always  quick- 
ened the  people's  spirit,  and  it  could  readily  be  made 
the  watchword  of  opposition  to  the  papal  pretensions.  The 
King's  position  as  champion  of  his  people  against  foreign 
domination  was   difficult  of  assault. 

The  constitution  of  the  country  was,  too,  easily  adaptable 

to  Henry's  purposes.     Parliament,  which  as  yet  knew  little 

of  its  strength,  was  usually  eager  to  give  effect  to 

ness  of  a  popular  King's  wishes.     His  wishes  were  indeed 

resistance. 

hardly  distinguishable  from  commands.     As  soon 

as  the  King's  mind  was  made  up,  it  was  easy  for  him  to 
secure  parliamentary  enactments  which  should  disestablish 
the  papacy  in  England  and  abolish  its  sovereignty.  At  a 
word  from  the  King  Parliament  could  be  reckoned  on  to 
remove  all  the  obstacles  that  papal  obduracy  put  in  the 
way  of  the  legal  accomplishment  of  his  plan  of  divorce. 
Officers  of  State,  and  indeed  the  people  at  large,  might  dis- 
approve of  such  parliamentary  action,  but  they  could  only 
stand  aside  or  acquiesce.  The  King  whose  liking  for  More 
was  not  easily  dispelled  applied  no  compulsion  to  him  either 
to  accept  his  master's  policy  or  to  declare  his  convictions. 
He  was  at  liberty,  he  was  told,  to  stand  aside. 

Neutrality    for    More   on   matters    touching   his    innermost 
beliefs  was  out  of  the  question.     For  him  to  remain  in  office 

when  the  Government  was  irretrievably  committed 
More  s  con-  "^ 

scientious  to  heresy  was  to  belie  his  conscience.  To  con- 
scruples. 

demn   himself   to   silence   in   any  relation   of   life 

was  contrary  to  his  nature.    Tacitly  to  accept  the  revolution  in 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  43 

religion^  which  was  henceforth  to  identify  England  with  Pro- 
testantism^ was  in  his  eyes  a  breach  of  the  laws  of  morality. 
As  soon,  therefore,  as   Parliament  was  invited  to    His  resig- 
set  aside  papal  power  in   England,   More  retired    thg^^ooJ. 
from  his  high  office.     He  had  held  the  Chancellor-     ^a^^- 
ship,  when  he  resigned  it  in  the  spring  of  1532,  for  two  and 
a  half  years.     In  spite  of  all  his  early  hopes  and  ambitions, 
it  was  with  a  profound  sense  of  relief  that  he  brought  his 
official  career  to  an  end. 

Loyalty  to  the  King  was  still  a  cherished  doctrine  of 
More's  practical  philosophy,  even  when  loyalty  was  avowedly 
in  conflict  with  his  principles.  The  inconsistent  attitude  of 
mind  was  unchangeable  till  death.  To  preserve  his  sense  of 
loyalty  from  decay  now  required  of  him,  he  per- 

ceived,   a    serious    effort.      The   proper   course,   to     spiritual 

ambition. 
his  mind,  was  to  abstain  henceforth  from  affairs 

of  State,  and  to  keep  his  mind  fixed  exclusively  on  spiritual 

matters.     Pitfalls  encircled  him,  but  he  was  sanguine  enough 

to  believe  that,  despite  all  that  had  happened  in  the  past  or 

might  happen  in  the  future,  he  might  as  a   private  citizen 

reconcile  his  duty  to  his  God  with  his  duty  to  his  King. 

To    Erasmus    he    wrote    on    the    day    of    his    resignation. 

*  That  which  I  have  from  a  child  unto  this  day  continually 

wished    that    being    freed    from    the    troublesome    businesses 

of  public   affairs,   I   might  live  somewhile   only  to   God  and 

myself,  I  have  now  by  the  especial  grace  of  Almighty  God, 

and  the  favour  of  my  most  indulgent  prince  obtained.'     He 

told  his  friend  that  he  was  sick  at  heart,  and  that  his  physical 

strength  was  failing.     Apprehension  of  the  trend  of  public 

affairs   shook  his   nerve^   but   there   was   no   infirmity   in   his 

convictions. 


44  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


XII 

The  abandonment  of  his  career  meant  for  More  a  serious 
reduction  of  income,  and  entailed  upon  him  the  need  of  liv- 
ing with  great  simplicity.     He  adapted  his  house- 

More's 

impaired        hold    expenses    to    his    diminished    revenues    with 

resources. 

alacrity^  but  showed  the  utmost  consideration  for 

all  retainers  whom  he  was  compelled  to  dismiss.^     He  called 

all   his    children   together    and   reminded   them   that   he    had 

mounted  to  the  highest  degree  from  the  lowest,  and  that  he 

had  known  all  manner  of  fare  from  the  scantiest  to  the  most 

abundant, — the   fare   of   a   poor   Oxford   student,   of   a   poor 

law   student,   of   a   junior   barrister,    and   finally   of   a   great 

officer  of  state.     He  hardly  knew  how  far  his  resources  would 

go;   he  would  not   at   the   outset   adopt  the   lowest   scale   of 

living  with  which  youthful  experience  had  familiarised  him; 

he  would  make  trial  of  the   fare  to   which  his   earnings   as 

barrister  had  accustomed  him;  but  he  warned  his  hearers  that, 

if  his  revenues  proved  insufficient  to  maintain  that  level  of 

expenditure  after   a   year's   experiment,   he   should   promptly 

descend  in  the  scale,  with  risk  of  a  further  descent,  should 

prudence  require  it.     He  jested  over  the  necessity  which  he 

suffered  of  selling  his  plate;  he  cheerfully  declared  that  a 

hundred   pounds    a    year   was    adequate    for    any    reasonable 

man's  requirements. 

More's  chief  interests  were  for  the  time  absorbed  in  the 

1  When  dismissing  the  gentleman  and  yeomen  of  his  household,  he  en- 
deavoured to  find  situations  for  them  with  bishops  and  noblemen.  He 
seems  to  have  presented  his  barge  to  his  successor  in  the  Chancellorship 
Sir  Thomas  Audley,  with  the  request  that  the  new  Chancellor  would  retain 
in  his  service  the  eight  bargemen  who  had  served  his  predecessor. 


SIR  THOMAS  MORE  45 

erection   of   a    tomb    for    himself    in    Chelsea    Church.      For 

the    monument    he    prepared    a    long    epitaph,    in 

which   he   announced  the   fulfilment   of   his   early    Chelsea 

tomb, 
resolves   to   devote   his   last   years   to  preparation 

for  the  life  to  come. 

From  the  worldly  points  of  view — public  or  private — 
More's  premature  withdrawal  from  the  oflSce  of  Lord  Chan- 
cellor was  regrettable.     The  chief  duty  of  a  Lord 

^  His  work 

Chancellor  is  to  act  as  a  judge  in  equity,  to  dis-    asChan- 

11/.  -I        .  1  cellor. 

pense   justice   in    the   loftiest    and    widest   sense. 

For  the  performance  of  such  a  function  More  had  first-rate 
capacity,  and  the  wisdom  of  his  judgments  rendered  his 
tenure  of  the  Chancellorship  memorable  in  the  annals  of 
English  law.  He  worked  with  exceptional  rapidity  and, 
as  long  as  he  held  office,  freed  the  processes  of  law  from  their 
traditional  imputation  of  tardiness.  On  one  occasion  he 
cleared  off  the  business  of  his  court  before  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning.    A  popular  rhyme  long  ran  to  the  effect: — 

'When  More  some  time  had  Chancellor  been 

No  more  suits  did  remain. 
The  like  will  never  more  be  seen 
Till  More  be  there  again.* 

We  are  told  that  *  The  poorest  suitor  obtained  ready  access 
to  him  and  speedy  trial,  while  the  richest  offered  presents  in 
vain,  and  the  claims  of  kindred  found  no  favour.'  More's 
son-in-law  and  biographer  wrote  '  That  he  would  for  no 
respect  digress  from  justice  well  appeared  by  a  plain  ex- 
ample of  his  son-in-law  Mr.  Giles  Heron.  For  when  the 
son  having  a  matter  before  his  father-in-law  in  the  Chancery, 
presuming  too  much  of  his  father-in-law's  favour  would  by 
him  in  no  wise  be  persuaded  to  agree  to  any  indifferent  order, 
then  made  the  Chancellor  in  conclusion  a  flat  decree  against 
his  son-in-law.' 


46  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

More  took  the  widest  views  of  his  duty,  and  ignored  all 
restrictive  formalities.  It  was  not  only  in  his  court  that 
he  was  prepared  to  dispense  justice  to  the  people  whom 
he  served.  *  This  Lord  Chancellor/  wrote  his  son-in-law, 
*  used  commonly  every  afternoon  to  sit  in  his  open 
accessibility  hall,  to  the  intent,  if  any  person  had  any  suit 
unto  him,  they  might  the  more  boldly  come  to  his 
presence,  and  there  open  complaints  before  him.  His  manner 
was  also  to  read  every  bill  or  cause  of  action  himself,  ere  he 
would  award  any  subpoena,  which  bearing  matter  sufficient 
worthy  a  subpcEna,  would  he  set  his  hand  unto,  or  else  cancel 
it.'  Constantly  did  he  point  out  to  his  colleagues  that  equi- 
table considerations  ought  to  qualify  the  rigour  of  the  law. 

But  high  as  was  More's  standard  of  conduct  on  the  judi- 
cial bench,  he  did  not  escape  censure.     In  the  stirring  con- 
troversy, to  one  side  of  which  he  was  deeply  com- 
Censure  of 

his  judicial  mitted,  every  manner  of  calumnious  suspicion  was 
conduct.  1         mi 

generated.      There   were    vague    charges    brought 

against  him  of  taking  bribes.  But  these  hardly  admit  of 
examination.  More  serious  were  the  persistent  reports  that 
he  had  used  his  judicial  power  in  order  to  torture  physically 
those  who  held  religious  opinions  differing  from  his  own. 
There  seems  little  question  that  at  times  he  endeavoured  to 
repress  the  spread  of  what  he  regarded  as  heresy  or  irreligion 
by  cruel  punishment  of  offenders.  But  the  evidence  against 
him  comes  from  opponents  who  were  resolved  to  put  the 
worst  construction  on  all  he  did.  His  alleged  acts  of  tyranny 
have  been  misrepresented.  He  had  an  old-fashioned  belief 
on  the  value  of  corporal  punishment.  A  boy  in  his  service 
who  talked  lightly  of  sacred  things  to  a  fellow-servant  was 
whipped  by  his  orders.  A  madman  who  brawled  in  churches, 
was  sentenced  by  him  to  be  beaten.  He  honestly  thought 
that  in  certain  circumstances,  physical  torture  and  even  burn- 


SIR  THOMAS   MORE  47 

ing  at  the  stake  was  likely  to  extirpate  heretical  doctrine. 
The  fervour  of  his  religious  faith  inclined  him  to  identify 
with  crime  obstinate  defiance  of  the  ancient  dogmas.  His 
native  geniality  was  not  proof  against  the  consuming  fire  of 
his  religious  zeal.  But  the  ultimate  humaneness  of  his  nature 
was  not  subdued  to  what  it  worked  in. 


XIII 

In  his  retirement.  More  studied  the  writings  of  the  Pro- 
testant controversialists,  and  sought  to  meet  their  arguments 
in  a  long  series  of  tracts  in  which  he  expressed  More 
himself  with  heat  and  vehemence.  He  abandoned  theokSical 
the  Latin  language,  in  which  he  had  penned  his  controversy, 
great  romance  of  Utopia,  and  wrote  in  English  in  order  to 
gain  the  ear  of  a  wider  public. 

The  chief  object  of  his  denunciation  was  the  Protestant 
translator  of  the  Bible  into  English,  and  the  foremost  of  the 
early  champions  of  the  English  Reformation,  The  attack 
William  Tyndale.  In  the  opposite  camp  Tyndale  o^^Tyndale 
faced,  with  a  resolution  equal  to  More's,  poverty,  danger  and 
death  in  the  service  of  what  he  held  to  be  divine  truth. 
Already  in  the  height  of  his  prosperity  had  More  opened 
fire  on  Tyndale;  as  early  as  1529,  the  year  of  his  accession 
to  the  Chancellorship,  he  had  passionately  defended  the  cause 
of  Rome  against  the  '  pestilent  sect  of  Luther  and  Tyndale.' 
Before  More's  withdrawal  from  public  life,  Tyndale  replied 
with  much  cogency  and  satiric  bitterness,  although  he  wrongly 
suspected  More  of  having  sold  his  pen  to  his  royal  employer. 
More,  by  his  retirement  from  public  life,  effectively  confuted 
such  suspicion.  When  in  his  time  of  leisure  he  renewed  the 
attack  on  the  foe,  he  gave  him  no  quarter.     Tyndale's  writ- 


48  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

ings  were  declared  to  be  a  *  very  treasury  and  well- 
spring  of  wickedness.'  The  reformer  and  friends  were  of 
all  *  heretics  that  ever  sprang  in  Christ's  church  the  very 
worst  and  the  most  beastly.'  More  did  not  object  to  trans- 
lations of  the  Bible  into  English,,  provided  they  were  faith- 
ful renderings.  But  Tyndale's  version  of  the  New  Testa- 
men  had  (he  argued)  altered  *  matters  of  great  weight,'  and 
was  only  worthy  of  the  fire.  Erasmus  wisely  thought  his 
friend  would  have  been  more  prudent  in  leaving  theology  to 
the  clergy.  It  was  under  stress  of  an  irresistible  impulse 
which  reason  could  not  moderate  that  More  fanned  with  his 
pen  the  theological  strife. 

More's  time  was  fully  occupied  in  his  library  and  chapel, 
and  he  sought  no  recreation  abroad.  He  studiously  avoided 
More  seeks  ^^^  Court,  where  the  predominance  of  the  King's 
polScaT  ^^"^  wife,  Anne  Boleyn,  intensified  his  misgivings 
affairs.  q£  ^.j^^  course  of  public  affairs.     But  he  was  dis- 

creetly silent  when  friends  invited  his  opinion  on  political 
topics.  His  mind,  however,  was  always  alert,  and  his  rebel- 
lious instincts  were  not  always  under  control.  In  spite  of 
himself  he  was  drawn  from  his  retreat  into  the  outer  circle 
of  the  political  whirlpool,  and  was  soon  engulfed  beyond 
chance  of  deliverance. 

In  1533  England  was  distracted  by  a  curious  imposture. 
A  young  woman,  Elizabeth  Barton,  who  became  known  as 
the  Holy  Maid  of  Kent,  was  believed  to  be  possessed  of  the 
gift  of  prophecy.     She  prophesied  that  the  King  had  ruined 

his  soul  and  would  come  to  a  speedy  end  for  hav- 
More  and 

the  Maid  ing  divorced  Queen  Catherine.  She  was  under 
of  Kent. 

the   influence   of    priests,   who   were    resentiul    at 

the  recent  turn  of  affairs,  and  were  sincerely  moved  by  the 
unjust  fate  that  the  divorced  Queen  Catherine  had  suffered. 
The   girl's   priestly   abettors   insisted   that   she   was   divinely 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  49 

inspired,  and  information  of  her  sayings  was  forwarded  to 
More.  He  showed  interest  in  her  revelations,  and  did  not 
at  the  outset  reject  the  possibility  that  they  were  the  out- 
come of  divine  inspiration.  He  visited  her  when  she  was 
staying  with  the  monks  of  the  Charterhouse  at  Sion  House, 
London.  He  talked  with  her,  and  was  impressed  by  her 
spiritual  fervour,  but  he  was  prudent  in  the  counsel  that  he 
offered  her.  He  advised  her  to  devote  herself  to  pious 
exercises,  and  not  to  meddle  with  political  themes.  He  com- 
mitted himself  to  little  in  his  interview  with  her.  It  was, 
however,  perilous  to  come  into  close  quarters  with  her  at 
all.  The  nation  was  greatly  roused  by  her  utterances,  which 
were  fully  reported  and  circulated  by  her  priestly  friends. 
The  new  Protestant  Minister  of  the  King,  Cromwell,  deemed 
it  needful  to  take  legal  proceedings  against  her  and  her 
allies.  She  and  the  priests  were  arrested.  By  way  of  de- 
fence they  asserted  that  More,  the  late  Lord  Chancellor,  was 
one  of  the  Holy  Maid's  disciples. 

The  Minister,  Cromwell,  sent  to  More  for  an  explanation; 
More  repeated  what  he  knew  of  the  woman,  and  Cromwell 
treated  his  relations  with  her  as  innocent.     More     Cromwell 
soon   learned   the    dishonest   tricks    by   which   the     exp/ana- 
Maid  of  Kent's  influence  had  been  spread  by  the     t^^^- 
priests,  and  he  at  once  admitted  that  he  had  been  the  victim 
of  a  foolish  imposture.     But  at  the  trial  of  the  Holy  Maid  of 
Kent  proofs  were  adduced  of  the  reverence  in  which  More's 
views  were  held  by   disaffected  Catholics.      The   King's   sus- 
picions were  aroused.     He  dreaded  More's  influence,  and,  in 
defiance  of  his  personal  feeling  for  him,  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  neglect  the  opportunity  of  checking  his  credit  which 
the  proceedings  against  the  Holy  Maid  seemed  to  offer. 

More  was  charged  with  conniving  at  treason  through  his 

D 


50  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

intercourse  with  the  Holy  Maid.     Summoned  before  a  Com- 
mittee   of   the    Privy    Council,    he   was    asked    an 

The  threat  ,      •, 

ofprosecu-      irrelevant   question   which   was   embarrassing.      It 

had  no  concern  with  the  charges  of  treason  brought 
against  him,  yet  it  went  to  the  root  of  the  situation.  Had 
he  declined  to  acknowledge  the  wisdom  and  necessity  of  the 
King's  abjuration  of  the  Pope's  authority  in  England?  More 
quietly  replied  that  he  wished  to  do  everything  that  was 
acceptable  to  the  King;  he  had  explained  his  views  freely 
to  him,  and  he  knew  not  that  he  had  incurred  the  royal  dis- 
pleasure. There  the  matter  was  for  the  moment  suffered  to 
rest.  But  very  ominous  looked  the  future.  The  charge  of 
treason  was  not  pressed  further.  Its  punishment  might  have 
been  death;  it  would  certainly  have  been  fine  and  imprison- 
ment. For  the  time  More  was  safe.  The  warning  was, 
however,  unmistakable.  More's  eyes  were  opened  to  the 
peril  which  menaced  him.  His  friend  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk reminded  him  that  the  anger  of  a  King  means 
More  eon-  -,       ,  , ,  .       t       i  i  .  i 

scious  of         death.      More    received    the    remark    with    equa- 
nimity.   *  Is    that    all,    my    Lord.^  '    he    answered, 
*  then,   in   good    faith,   between   your    Grace   and   me   is   but 
this,  that  I  shall  die  to-day,  and  you  to-morrow.' 


XIV 

Rulers  in  those  days  believed  that  coercion  gave  ultimate 
security  to  uniformity  of  opinion.  Henry  was  not  willing  to 
The  tolerate  dissent  from   his   policy,  though  he  bore 

o^Anne  ^ore  no  ill-will.     On  his  own  terms  the  King  was 

Boleyn.  always  ready  to  welcome  his   ex-Chancellor's   re- 

turn to  the  royal  camp,  but  he  felt  embarrassment,  which  was 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  51 

easily  convertible  into  resentment,  at  More's  remaining  in 
permanence  outside.  Having  now  divorced  Queen  Catherine, 
and  married  Queen  Anne,  Henry  had  caused  a  bill  to  be 
passed  through  Parliament  vesting  the  succession  to  the 
Crown  in  Anne's  children,  and  imposing  as  a  test  of  loyalty 
an  oath  on  all  Englishmen,  by  which  they  undertook  to  be 
faithful  subjects  of  the  issue  of  the  new  Queen. 

Commissioners  were  nominated  to  administer  this  oath,  and 
they  interpreted  their  duties  liberally.  They  added  to  it 
words  by  which  the  oath-taker  abjured  any  foreign     ^, 

•^      ^  J  "  o         The  oath 

potentate,  i.e.  the  Pope.     More  was  summoned  be-     abjuring 
^  .  ^  the  Pope, 

fore  the  new  Commissioners,  at  whose  head  stood 

Cromwell  the  Minister,  and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
Cranmer.  After  hearing  Mass,  and  taking  the  Holy  Com- 
munion, he  presented  himself  to  the  Archbishop  and  his 
fellow  Commissioners  at  the  Archbishop's  Palace  of  Lam- 
beth. The  ex-Chancellor  was  requested  to  subscribe  to  the 
new  oath  in  its  extended  form.  The  demand  roused  his 
spirit;  he  was  in  no  temper  to  sacrifice  his  principles.  He 
declared  himself  ready  to  take  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  the 
Queen's  children,  but  he  declined  to  go  further.  He  was 
bidden  take  an  oath  that  impugned  the  Pope's  authority. 
He  refused  peremptorily.  He  was  told  that  he  was  setting 
up  his  private  judgment  against  the  nation's  wisdom  as 
expressed  in  Parliament.  More  replied  that  the  council  of 
the  realm  was  setting  itself  against  the  general  council  of 
Christendom.  The  Commissioners  were  uncertain  what  step 
to  take  next.  They  ordered  More  for  the  present  into  the 
custody  of  one  of  themselves,  the  Abbot  of  West-  j^Qj.g.g 
minster  Abbey.  The  Archbishop  was  inclined  to  detention. 
a  compromise.  What  harm  would  come  of  permitting 
More  to  take  the  oath  with  the  reservations  which  he  had 
claimed?     The  King  was  consulted;  he  also  expressed  doubt 


52  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

as  to  the  fit  course  to  pursue.  The  new  Queen,  Anne  Boleyn, 
had,  however,  made  up  her  mind  that  More  was  a  danger- 
ous enemy.  At  her  instance  the  King  and  his  Minister  de- 
clared that  no  exception  could  be  made  in  favour  of  More. 
By  their  order  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower  of  London 
as  a  traitor,  and  there  he  remained  a  prisoner  until  his 
death,  some  fifteen  months  later.  An  old  friend,  John  Fisher, 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  had  of  late  gone  through  the  same 
experience  as  More,  and  he  was  already  in  the  Tower  to 
welcome  the  arrival  of  his  companion  in  the   faith. 

Lawyers  generally  doubted  whether  the  oath  of  fidelity  to 
the  new  Queen's  issue,  as  defined  in  the  Act  of  Parliament, 

included  any  repudiation  of  the  Pope;  and  Parlia- 
Theoathof  ^        r-  ,         ,         ,      ,      , 

the  Act  of       ment  was  invited  to  solve  this  doubt  by  passmg  a 

resolution  stating  that  the  double-barrelled  oath, 
as  it  had  been  administered  to  More  and  Fisher,  was  the 
very  oath  intended  by  the  Act  of  Succession.  More's  position 
was  thereby  rendered  most  critical.  There  was  no  longer 
any  doubt  that  he  was  putting  himself  in  opposition  to  the 
law  of  the  land.  Legal  definition  was  given  to  his  offence. 
A  bill  of  indictment  was  drawn  against  him;  it  declared  him 
to  be  a  sower  of  sedition,  and  guilty  of  ingratitude  to  his 
royal  benefactor. 

Adversity  as  it  deepened  had  no  terrors  for  More.  His 
passage  from  palace  to  prison  did  not  disturb  his  equanimity. 
He  had  already  written  in  verse  of  the  vicissitudes  of  for- 
j^Q^g,g  tune.      He  had  represented  the   scornful   goddess 

resignation,  ^g  distributing  among  men  *  brittle  gifts,'  bestow- 
ing them  only  to  amuse  herself  by  suddenly  plucking  them 
away — 

*This  is  her  sport,  thus  proveth  she  her  might; 
Great  boast  she  mak'th  if  one  be  by  her  power 
Wealthy  and  wretched  both  within  an  hour. 


SIR    THOMAS   MORE  53 

Wherefore  if  thou  in  surety  lust  to  stand. 
Take  poverty's  part  and  let  proud  fortune  go. 
Receive  nothing  that  cometh  from  her  hand. 
Love  manner  and  virtue;  they  be  only  tho. 
Which  double  Fortune  may  not  take  thee  fro': 
Then  may'st  thou  boldly  defy  her  turning  chance, 
She  can  thee  neither  hinder  nor  advance.' 

There  was  no  affectation  in  the  lines.  More  wrote  from  his 
heart.  It  was  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  that  he  returned 
Fortmie's  ugliest  scowl. 


XV 

In  the  Tower  More's  gaolers  treated  him  with  kindness. 
His  health  was  bad,  but  his  spirits  were  untamable,  and 
when  his  friends  and  his  wife  and  children  visited  j^^  ^^^ 
him  in  his  cell  his  gaiety  proved  infectious.  In  Tower, 
the  first  days  of  his  imprisonment  he  wrote  many  letters, 
punctually  performed  his  religious  duties,  and  penned  re- 
ligious tracts.  There  was  no  hope  of  his  giving  way.  His 
wife  urged  him  to  yield  his  scruples,  ask  pardon  of  the 
King,  and  gain  his  freedom.  He  replied  that  prison  was 
as  near  Heaven  as  his  own  house,  and  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  quitting  his  cell.  His  children  petitioned  the  King 
for  pardon  on  the  ground  of  his  ill-health  and  their  poverty, 
and  they  re-asserted  that  his  offence  was  not  of  malice  or 
obstinacy,  but  of  such  a  long-continued  and  deep-rooted 
scruple  as  passeth  his  power  to  avoid  and  put  away.  His 
relatives  were  forced  to  submit  to  painful  indignities.  They 
had  to  pay  for  his  board  and  lodging,  and  their  resources 
were  small.  More's  wife  sold  her  clothes  in  order  to  pay 
the  prison  fees. 

Henry,  under  the  new  Queen's  influence,  was  now  at  length 


54  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

incensed   against   More.      The   likelihood   of   his    mercy   was 

small.      Parliament  was  entirely  under  his   sway. 
The  King  "^  *^ 

and  the  In  the  late  autumn  of   1534<  yet  a  new  Act  was 

of  the  passed    to    complete    the    separation    of    England 

from   Rome.      There  was   conferred  on  the   King 

the    title    of    Supreme    Head    of    the    Church    in    place    of 

the   Pope^   and  that  title,  very  slightly  modified,   all   Henry 

VIII. 's    successors   have   borne.      The   new   Act   made   it   high 

treason  maliciously   to   deny   any   of  the  royal  titles.      Next 

spring  Minister  Cromwell  went  to  the  Tower  and  asked  More 

his  opinion  of  this  new  statute;  was  it  in  his  view  lawful  or 

no?      More  sought  refuge  in  the  declaration  that  he  was   a 

faithful  subject  of  the  King.     He  declined  further  answer. 

Similiar    scenes    passed   in   the   months   that    followed.      But 

More   was    warned   that   the    King   would   compel    a   precise 

answer. 

More's   fellow-prisoner    Fisher   was   subjected   to   the   like 

trials,  and  they  compared  their  experiences  in  correspondence 

TT.  with   each   other.      More   also   wrote    in   terms   of 

Mis  corres- 
pondence, pathetic  affection  to  his  favourite  daughter,  Mar- 
garet Roper,  and  described  the  recent  discussions  in  his  cell. 
He  received  replies.  In  the  result  his  correspondence  was 
declared  to  constitute  a  new  offence;  it  amounted  to  con- 
spiracy. The  prisoner  was  immoved  by  the  baseless  in- 
sinuation. His  treatment  became  more  rigorous.  Deprived 
of  writing  materials  and  books,  he  could  only  write  to  his 
wife,  daughter  or  friends  on  scraps  of  paper  with  pieces 
of  coal. 

More  cheerfully  abandoned  hope  of  freedom.     He  caused 
the  shutters  of  the  cell  to  be  closed,  and  spent  his  time  in  con- 
templation in  the  dark.     His  end  was,  indeed,  near. 
Death  had  been  made  the  penalty  for  those  who 
refused  to  accept  the  King's  supremacy.     On  the  25th  June 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  55 

1535,  Fisher  suffered  for  his  refusal  on  the  scaffold.  On 
the  1st  July  1535,  More  was  brought  to  Westminster  Hall 
to  stand  his  trial  for  having  infringed  the  Act  of  Supremacy, 
disobedience  to  which  was  now  high  treason.  The  Crown 
relied  on  his  answer  to  his  examiners  in  the  prison,  and  on 
his  correspondence  with  Fisher.  He  was  ill  in  health,  and 
was  allowed  to  sit.  He  denied  the  truth  of  most  of  the 
evidence.  He  had  not  advised  his  friend  Fisher  to  dis- 
obey the  new  Act;  he  had  not  described  that  new  Act  as  a 
two-edged  sword,  approval  of  which  ruined  the  soul,  while 
disapproval  of  it  ruined  the  body.  The  outcome  was  not 
in  doubt.  A  verdict  of  guilty  was  returned,  and  More,  the 
faithful  son  of  the  old  Church  and  the  disciple  of  the  new 
culture,  was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  at  Tyburn.  As  he 
left  the  Court  he  remarked  that  no  temporal  lord  could  law- 
fully be  head  of  the  Church;  that  he  had  studied  the  history 
of  the  papacy,  and  was  convinced  that  it  was  based  on  Divine 
authority. 

With  calm  and  unruflfled  temper.  More  faced  the  end.     As 
he  re-entered  the  Tower  he  met  his  favourite  daughter  who 

asked  his  blessing.     The  touching  episode  is  thus 

The  fare- 
narrated   by  William   Roper,   husband   of   More's     well  to  his 

daughter. 
eldest  daughter,  who  wrote  the  earliest  biography 

of  More : — '  When  Sir  Thomas  More  came  from  Westminster 
to  the  Tower-Ward  again,  his  daughter,  my  wife,  desirous 
to  see  her  father,  whom  she  thought  she  should  never  see  in 
this  world  after,  and  alsoe  to  have  his  final  blessing,  gave 
attendance  about  the  Tower  wharf  where  she  knew  he  should 
pass  before  he  could  enter  into  the  Tower.  There  tarrying 
his  comming,  as  soon  as  she  saw  him,  after  his  blessing  upon 
her  knees  reverentlie  received,  she  hasting  towards  him,  with- 
out consideracion  or  care  of  her  selfe,  pressing  in  amongst 
the  midst  of  the  throng  and  company  of  the  guard,  that  with 


56  GREAT  ENGLISHMEN 

halberds  and  bills  went  round  about  him,  hastily  ran  to  him, 
and  there  openly  in  sight  of  them  embraced  him  and  took 
him  about  the  neck  and  kissed  him.  Who  well  liking  her 
most  natural  and  dear  daughterly  affecion  towards  him  gave 
her  his  fatherly  blessing  and  many  godly  words  of  comfort 
besides.  From  whom  after  she  was  departed,  she  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  former  sight  of  him,  and  like  one  that 
had  forgotten  herself  being  all  ravished  with  the  entire  love 
of  her  father,  having  respect  neither  to  herself  nor  to  the 
press  of  the  people  and  multitude  that  were  there  about  him, 
suddenly  turned  back  again,  ran  to  him  as  before,  took  him 
about  the  neck  and  divers  times  kissed  him  lovingly,  and  at 
last  with  a  full  and  heavy  heart  was  fain  to  depart  from 
him:  the  beholding  whereof  was  to  many  that  were  present 
so  lamentable  that  it  made  them  for  very  sorrow  thereof  to 
weep  and  mourn/ 


XVI 

The  King  commuted  the  sentence  of  hanging  to  that  of 
beheading,  a  favour  which  More  grimly  expressed  the  hope 
More's  *^^*  ^^^  friends  might  be  spared  the  need  of  ask- 

execution.  jjjg  Early  on  the  morning  of  the  6th  July  he 
was  carried  from  the  Tower  to  Tower  Hill  for  execution. 
His  composure  knew  no  diminution.  *  I  pray  thee,  see  me 
safely  up,'  he  said  to  the  officer  who  led  him  from  the  Tower, 
up  the  steps  of  the  frail  scaffold,  *  as  for  my  coming  down, 
I  can  shift  for  myself.'  He  encouraged  the  headsman  to  do 
his  duty  fearlessly:  'Pluck  up  thy  spirits,  man;  be  not 
afraid  to  do  thine  office;  my  neck  is  very  short.'  He  seemed 
to  speak  in  jest  as  he  moved  his  beard  from  the  block,  with 
the  remark  that  it  had  never  committed  treason.     Then  with 


SIR  THOMAS  MORE  57 

the    calmness    of   one    who   was    rid    of    every   care   he   told 

the    bystanders    that    he    died    in    and    for    the    faith    of  the 

Catholic    Church,  and    prayed    God    to    send    the    King    good 

counsel. 

His  body  was  buried  in  the  Tower  of  London.     The  tomb 

that  he  had  erected  at  Chelsea  never  held  his  remains.     His 

head  was  placed,  according  to  the  barbarous  cus-     ^ 

^  ^  Preserva- 

tom  of  that  day,  on  a  pole  on  London  Bridge,  but     tionofhis 

head  by 
his  favourite  daughter,  Margaret  Roper,  privately    Margaret 

purchased  it  a  month  later,   and  preserved   it  in 

spices    till    her    death,    nine    years    afterwards.       Tennyson 

commemorated   her   devotion   in   his    great   poem   *  Dream   of 

Fair   Women,'   where   he   describes    her   as   the   woman   who 

clasped   in  her   last  trance  of   death  her   murdered   father's 

head. 

'Mom  broaden'd  on  the  borders  of  the  dark 

Ere  I  saw  her,  who  clasp'd  in  her  last  trance 
Her  murdered  father's  head.' 

The  head  is  said  to  have  long  belonged  to  her  descendants, 
and  to  have  been  finally  placed  in  the  vault  belonging  to  her 
husband's  family  in  a  church  at  Canterbury. 

INIore's  piteous  fate  startled  the  world.  His  meekness  at 
the  end,  the  dignified  office  which  he  once  enjoyed,  the  fine 
temper  of  his  intellect,  his  domestic  virtues  seemed  to  plead 
like  angels  trump et-tongued  against  the  deep  damnation  of 
his  taking  off.  To  onlookers  it  appeared  as  if  virtue  and 
wisdom  in  a  champion  of  orthodoxy  had  whetted  the  fury  of 
a  schismatic  tyrant.  To  the  principle  and  sentiment  of  the 
Catholic  peoples  a  desperate  challenge  had  been  offered. 
*  The  horrid  deed  was  blown  in  every  eye,  and  tears  drowned 
the  wind '  of  every  country  of  Western  Europe.  Catholics 
in   Europe   freely  threatened  the   King    (Henry   viii.)    with 


58  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

reprisals.  The  Emperor,  Charles  v.,  declared  he  would 
„.  rather  have  lost  his  best  city  than  such  a  counsel- 

tion  abroad    Jor.     The  Pope  prepared  a  bull  and  interdict  of 

of  news  of  x       x       j. 

his  death.  deposition  which  was  designed  to  cut  King  Henry 
off  from  the  body  of  Christ,  to  empower  his  subjects  to  expel 
him  from  the  throne  and  to  cast  his  soul  in  death  into  hell 
for  evet.  English  ambassadors  abroad  were  instructed,  with- 
out much  effect,  to  explain  that  More  had  suffered  justly 
the  penalty  of  the  law,  and  that  the  legal  procedure  had  been 
perfectly  regular.  In  all  countries  poets  likened  him  to  the 
greatest  heroes  of  antiquity,  to  Socrates,  Seneca,  Aristides  and 
Cato.  Few  questioned  the  declaration  of  his  friends  that 
angels  had  carried  his  soul  into  everlasting  glory,  where  an 
imperishable  crown  of  martyrdom  adorned  his  brow. 


XVII 

More's  devotion  to  principle,  his  religious  fervour,  his 
invincible  courage,  are  his  most  obvious  personal  character- 
More's  istics,  but  with  them  were  combined  a  series  of 

character.  qualities  which  are  rarely  to  be  met  with  in  the 
martyrs  of  religion.  There  was  no  gloom  in  his  sunny  na- 
ture. He  was  a  wit,  a  wag,  delighting  in  amusing  repartee, 
and  seeking  to  engage  men  in  all  walks  of  life  in  cheery 
talk.  It  was  complained  of  him  that  he  hardly  ever  opened 
his  mouth  except  to  make  a  joke,  and  his  jests  on  the  scaf- 
fold were  held  by  many  contemporary  critics  to  be  idle  im- 
His  mode  pertinences.  Yet  his  mode  of  life  could  stand 
ofhfe.  ^Yie  severest  tests;  he  lived  with  great  simplicity, 

drinking  little  wine,  avoiding  expensive  food,  and  dressing 
carelessly.  He  hated  luxury  or  any  sort  of  ostentation  in 
his  home  life.     At  Chelsea  he  lived  in  patriarchal   fashion, 


SIR   THOMAS   MORE  59 

with  his  children  and  their  husbands  or  wives  and  his  grand- 
children about  him.  He  rarely  missed  attendance  at  the 
Chelsea  Parish  Church,  and  would  often  sing  in  the  choir, 
wearing  a  surplice.  He  encouraged  all  his  household  to 
study  and  read,  and  to  practise  liberal  arts.  He  was  fond  of 
animals,  even  foxes,  weasels,  and  monkeys.  He  was  a  charm- 
ing host  to  congenial  friends,  though  he  disliked  games  of 
chance,  and  eschewed  dice  or  cards. 

At  the  same  time  More  never  ceased  to  prove  himself  a 
child  of  the  Renaissance.  All  forms  of  Art  strongly  appealed 
to  him.  He  liked  collecting  curious  furniture  and  His  love 
plate.  *  His  house,'  wrote  Erasmus,  *  is  a  maga-  °^  ^^*- 
zine  of  curiosities,  which  he  rejoices  in  showing.*  He  de- 
lighted in  music,  and  persuaded  his  uncultivated  wife  to 
learn  the  flute  and  other  instruments  with  him.  Of  painting 
he  was  an  expert  critic.  The  great  German  artist,  Holbein, 
was  his  intimate  friend,  and,  often  staying  with  him  at 
Chelsea,  acknowledged  More's  hospitality  by  painting  por- 
traits of  him  and  his  family. 

As  a  writer,  More's  fame  mainly  depended  on  his  political 
romance  of  Utopia,  which  was  penned  in  finished  Latin.     His 
Latin  style,  both  in  prose  and  verse,   is   of  rare    His  Latin 
lucidity,    and    entitles    him    to    a    foremost    place    writing. 
among   English   contributors   to   the   Latin   literature   of   the 
Renaissance.     His  Utopia  is  an  admirable  specimen  of  fluent 
and    harmonious    Latin    prose.      With    the    popular    English 
translation  of  his  romance,  which  was  first  published  sixteen 
years  after  his  death,  he  had  no  concern.     Much    His  English 
English  verse  as  well  as  much  Latin  verse  came    Po^^^y- 
from    More's    active    pen.      Critics    have    usually    ignored    or 
scorned  his  English  poetry.     Its  theme  is  mainly  the  fickleness 
of  fortune  and  the  voracity  of  time.     But  freshness  and  sin- 
cerity characterise   his   treatment  of  these   well-worn   topics. 


60  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

and,  though  the  rhythm  is  often  harsh,  and  the  modern  reader 
may  be  repelled  by  archaic  vocabulary  and  constructions. 
His  English  More  at  times  achieves  metrical  effects  which 
prose.  adumbrate  the  art  of  Edmund  Spenser.     Of  Eng- 

lish prose  More  made  abundant  use  in  treating  both  secular 
and  religious  themes.  There  is  doubt  as  to  his  responsibility 
History  of  ^^^  *^^  '  History  of  Richard  in./  which  ordina- 
Richardiii.  j.j|y.  figures  among  his  English  prose  writings. 
Archbishop  Morton  has  been  credited,  on  grounds  that  merit 
attention,  with  the  main  responsibility  for  its  composition. 
It  is  an  admirable  example  of  Tudor  prose,  clear  and  simple, 

free    from    pedantry    and    singularly    modern    in 
Pico's  Li/e.  o  &  ^ 

construction.      Similar   characteristics   are   only   a 

little  less  conspicuous  in  More's  authentic  biography  of  Pico, 

the    Italian    humanist,    who,    like    More    himself,    yielded    to 

theology   abilities   that   were   better   adapted  to   win   renown 

in  the  pursuit  of  profane  literature. 

It   is,    however,   by   the   voluminous    polemical   tracts    and 

devotional  treatises  of  his  closing  career  that  More's  English 

prose    must    be    finally    judged.      In    controversy 

versial  More  wrote  with  a  rapidity  and  fluency  which  put 

theology.  f        J  J  f 

dignity  out  of  the  question.     Very  often  the  tone 

is  too  spasmodic  and  inter j  ectional  to  give  his  work  genuine 

literary  value.     In  the  heat  of  passion  he  sinks  to  scurrility 

which  admits  of  no  literary  form.     But  it  is  only  episodically 

that  his   anger  gets  the  better  of  his  literary  temper.      His 

native  humour  was  never  long  repressible,  and  some  homely 

anecdote  or  proverbial  jest  usually  rushed  into  his  mind  to 

stem  the  furious  torrents  of  his  abuse.     When  the  gust  of 

his   anger   passed,   he   said   what  he   meant  with   the   simple 

directness   that   comes   of   conviction,   unconstrained   by   fear. 

Vigour  and  freedom  are  thus  the  main  characteristics  of  his 

controversial  English  prose. 


SIR  THOMAS   MORE  61 

There  is  smaller  trace  of  individual  style  in  his  books  of 
religious  exhortation  and  devotion,  but  their  pious  placidity 
does  not  exclude  bursts  both  of  eloquence  and  of  anecdotal  re- 
miniscence which  prove  his  wealth  of  literary  energy  and 
of   humoursome   originality.      To   one   virtue   as   a 

writer  he  can  make  no  claim:  pointed  brevity  in     devotional 

trcs^tiscs. 
English  was  out  of  his  range.     In  Latin  he  could 

achieve  epigrams,  but  all  his  English  works  in  prose  are  of 
massive   dimensions,   and   untamable   volubility. 

For  two  centuries  after  his  death  More  was  regarded  by 
Catholic  Europe  as  the  chief  glory  of  English  literature.  In 
the  seventeenth  century  the  Latin  countries  deemed  More's 
Shakespeare  and  Bacon  his  inferiors.  It  was  his  repute^ 
Latin  writing  that  was  mainly  known  abroad.  But  abroad, 
even  in  regard  to  that  branch  of  his  literary  endeavours,  time 
has  long  since  largely  dissipated  his  early  fame.  In  the 
lasting  literature  of  the  world.  More  is  only  remembered 
as  the  author  of  the  Utopia,  wherein  he  lives  for  all  time,  not 
so  much  as  a  man  of  letters,  but  in  that  imaginative  role, 
which  contrasts  so  vividly  with  other  parts  in  his  repertory, 
of  social  reformer  and  advocate  of  reason.  In  English  lit- 
erary history  his  voluminous  work  in  English  prose  deserves 
grateful,  if  smaller,  remembrance.  Despite  the  many  crudi- 
ties of  his  utterance,  he  first  indicated  that  native  English 
prose  might  serve  the  purpose  of  great  literature  as  effect- 
ively as  Latin  prose,  which  had  hitherto  held  the  field  among 
all  men  of  cultivated  intelligence.  There  is  an  added  paradox 
in  the  revelation  that  one  who  was  the  apostle  in  England  at 
once  of  the  cosmopolitan  culture  of  the  classical  Renaissance 
and  of  the  mediaeval  dogmatism  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  should  also  be  a  strenuous  champion  of  the  literary 
usage  of  his  vernacular  tongue.  But  paradox  streaks  all 
facets  of  More's  career. 


62  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Few   careers   are   more   memorable    for   their    pathos    than 

More's.      Fewer  still  are  more  paradoxical.      In  that  regard 

he  was  a  true  child  of  an  era  of  ferment  and  un- 
The  para- 
doxes of  disciplined  enthusiasm,  which  checked  orderliness 

of  conduct  or  aspiration.  Sir  Thomas  More's 
variety  of  aim,  of  ambition,  has  indeed  few  parallels  even 
in  the  epoch  of  the  Renaissance.  Looking  at  him  from  one 
side  we  detect  only  a  religious  enthusiast,  cheerfully  sacrific- 
ing his  life  for  his  convictions — a  man  whose  religious  creed, 
in  defence  of  which  he  faced  death,  abounded  in  what  seems, 
in  the  dry  light  of  reason,  to  be  superstition.  Yet  surveying 
More  from  another  side  we  find  ourselves  in  the  presence 
of  one  endowed  with  the  finest  enlightenment  of  the  Renais- 
sance, a  man  whose  outlook  on  life  was  in  advance  of  his 
generation;  possessed  too  of  such  quickness  of  wit,  such 
imaginative  activity,  such  sureness  of  intellectual  insight,  that 
he  could  lay  bare  with  pen  all  the  defects,  all  the  abuses, 
which  worn-out  conventions  and  lifeless  traditions  had  im- 
posed on  the  free  and  beneficent  development  of  human 
endeavour  and  human  society.  That  the  man,  who,  by  an 
airy  effort  of  the  imagination,  devised  the  new  and  revolu- 
tionary ideal  of  Utopia,  should  end  his  days  on  the  scaffold  as 
a  martyr  to  ancient  beliefs  which  shackled  man's  intellect  and 
denied  freedom  to  man's  thought  is  one  of  history's  per- 
plexing ironies.  Sir  Thomas  More's  career  propounds  a 
riddle  which  it  is  easier  to  enunciate  than  to  solve. 


Ill 

SIR   PHILIP   SIDNEY 

'  A  combination  and  a  form  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man.' 

Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  iii,  iv.  55-57. 

[Bibliography. — The  earliest  attempt  at  a  biography  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  was  made  by  his  intimate  friend,  Fulke  Greville, 
Lord  Brooke,  in  the  Life  of  the  Renowned  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
which  was  first  published  in  1652.  It  is  a  rambling  character 
sketch,  intermingled  with  much  irrelevant  discussion  of  Eng- 
lish foreign  policy.  The  fullest  modern  biography  is  by  Mr.  H. 
R.  Fox-Bourne  which  was  first  published  in  1862,  and  after- 
wards revised  for  re-issue  in  the  '  Heroes  of  the  Nations '  series, 
1891.  Sidney's  Arcadia,  together  with  his  chief  literary  works, 
appeared  in  1598,  and  the  volume  was  many  times  reprinted 
down  to  1721.  An  abridgment  of  the  Arcadia,  edited  by 
J.  Hain  Friswell,  appeared  in  1867.  An  attractive  reprint  of 
Sidney's  Astrophel  and  Stella  was  edited  by  Mr.  A.  W.  Pollard 
in  1888,  and  that  collection  of  poems  is  included  in  Elizabethan 
Sonnets  (1904),  edited  by  the  present  writer  in  Messrs.  Con- 
stable's '  English  Garner.'  The  Apologie  for  Poetrie  has  been 
well  edited  by  Prof.  Albert  S.  Cook,  of  Yale  (1901,  Boston, 
U.S.  A.).] 


The  course  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  life  greatly  differed  from 
that  of  More's.  Sidney  held  by  patrimony  a  place  in  the 
social  hierarchy  which  was  outside  More's  experi-  gjdney's 
ence.  A  grandson  of  a  Duke,  a  nephew  of  Earls,  ^'^^  ^'''^^' 
he  belonged  by  birth  to  the  English  aristocracy,  to  the  gov- 
erning classes  of  England.  To  some  measure  of  distinction 
he  was  born.  The  professions  of  arms,  of  diplomacy,  of 
politics,  opened  to  him  automatically  without  his  personal 
effort.     The  circumstance  of  his  lineage  moulded  the  form 

and  pressure  of  his  career. 

63 


64  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

From  other  springs  flowed  his  innermost  ambitions.  The 
spirit  of  the  Renaissance  imbued  his  intellectual  being  more 
lutellectual  consistently  than  it  imbued  ^More's.  The  natural 
ambitions.  affinities  of  Sidney's  mind  were  from  first  to  last 
with  great  literature  and  art^  not  with  the  turmoil  of  war,  or 
politics,  or  creeds.  The  Muse  of  poetry  who  scorns  the 
hollow  pomp  of  rank  laid  chief  claim  to  his  allegiance. 
But  he  was  a  curious  and  persistent  inquirer  into  many 
fashions  of  beauty  besides  the  poetic.  One  part  of  his  en- 
ergies was  devoted  to  a  prose  romance,  which  he  designed  on 
a  great  scale;  another  part  to  prose  criticism  of  a  reasoned 
enlightenment  that  was  unprecedented  in  England.  To  all 
manifestations  of  the  new  spirit  of  the  age  he  was  sensitive. 
But  there  were  contrary  influences,  bred  of  his  inherited 
environment,  there  were  feudal  and  mediaeval  traditions, 
which  disputed  the  sway  over  him  of  the  new  forces  of 
culture.  The  development  of  his  poetic  and  literary  en- 
dowments was  checked  by  rival  political  and  military  pre- 
occupations. Even  if  death  had  spared  him  until  his 
faculties  were  fully  ripened,  he  seemed  destined  to  distribute 
his  activities  over  too  wide  a  field  for  any  of  them  to  bear 
the  richest  fruit.  He  ranks  with  the  heroes  who  have 
promised  more  than  they  have  performed,  with  the  pathetic 
sharers  '  of  unfulfilled  renown.* 


Nineteen  years  after  More's  tragic  death,  and  ten  years 
before  the  birth  of  Shakespeare,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  came  into 
The  central  ^^^  world.  His  short  life  of  thirty-two  years 
the  Renais-  covers  the  central  period  in  the  history  of  the  Eng- 
sance.  jjgj^  Renaissance,  which  reached  its   first  triumph 

in  More's  Utopia  and  its  final  glory  in  Shakespearean  drama. 
Sidney  died  while   Shakespeare  was  yet  unknown  to   fame. 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  65 

when  the  dramatist's  fortunes  were  in  the  balance,  before  his 
literary  work  was  begun. 

Interests  with  which  literature  had  little  in  common  dis- 
tracted the  mental  energies  of  the  nation  between  the  dates 
of  More's  execution  and  of  Sidney's  birth.  The  National 
religious  reformation  had  been  carried  to  a  con-  ^*^^^^- 
elusion  by  coercive  enactments,  which  outraged  the  con- 
sciences of  too  many  subjects  of  the  King  to  give  immediate 
assurance  of  finality.  The  strong-willed  monarch,  Henry 
VIII.,  had  died,  amid  signs  that  justified  doubt  of  the  per- 
manence of  the  country's  new  religious  polity.  Disease  soon 
laid  its  hands  on  the  feeble  constitution  of  the  boy,  who, 
succeeding  to  Henry's  throne  as  Edward  vi.,  upheld  there 
with  youthful  eagerness  and  extravagance  the  cause  of  the 
Reformation.  Factions  of  ambitious  noblemen  robbed  the 
Court  of  respect,  and  jeopardised  the  Government's  power. 
The  air  rang  with  confused  threats  of  rebellion.  The  suc- 
cession to  the  throne  was  disputed  on  the  boy-king's 
premature  death.  It  was  no  time  for  the  peaceful  worship 
of  the  Muses.  Political  and  religious  strife  oppressed  the 
England  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  infancy,  and  the  circum- 
stances of  his  birth  set  him  in  the  forefront  of  the  struggle. 

Sidney  was  a  native  of  Kent,  born  at  Penshurst,  in  an  old 
mansion  of  great  beauty  and  historic  interest  which,  dating 
from  the  fifteenth  century,  still  stands.  His  Sidney's 
father.  Sir  Henry  Sidney,  was  a  politician  who  ^^^*^- 
who  had  long  been  busily  engaged  in  politics,  mainly  in  the 
ungrateful  task  of  governing  Ireland.  His  mother  was  a 
daughter  of  the  ambitious  nobleman,  the  Duke  of  Northum- 
berland, who  endeavoured  to  place  his  daughter-in-law  (of 
a  nobler  family  than  his  own).  Lady  Jane  Grey,  upon  the 
throne  of  England  after  the  death  of  the  boy-king  Edward  vi. 
The   plot   failed   and   Henry   viii.'s    eldest   daughter,    Mary, 

E 


66  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

who  shared  More's  enthusiasm  for  the  papacy  and  his  horror 
of  Protestantism,,  became  Queen  in  accordance  with  law.  The 
failure  of  the  Duke's  ambitious  schemes  led  to  his  death  on 
the  scaffold.  Queen  Mary's  accession  preceded  Sidney's 
birth  by  a  few  months^  and  the  tragedy  of  his  grandfather's 
execution  darkened  his  entry  into  life. 

The  two  critical  events — the  failure  of  the  Duke  of  North- 
umberland's scheme  of  usurpation,  and  Queen  Mary's  revival 
jj^  of  a  Catholic  sovereignty — were  vividly  recalled  at 

baptism.  Philip's  baptism.  His  godmother  was  his  grand- 
mother, the  widowed  Duchess  of  Northumberland.  His  god- 
father was  the  new  Catholic  Queen's  lately  married  husband, 
PhiHp  of  Spain,  the  sour  fanatic,  who  shortly  afterwards 
became  King  Philip  ii.  It  was  an  inauspicious  conjunction 
of  sponsors.  Both  were  identified  with  doomed  forces  of 
reaction.  The  ancient  regime  of  Spain,  which  King  Philip 
represented,  was  already  on  its  downward  grade.  The 
widowed  Duchess  was  the  survivor  of  a  lawless  and  selfish 
political  faction,  which  had  defied  political  justice  and  the 
general  welfare.  Shadows  fell  across  the  child's  baptismal 
font.  A  cloud  of  melancholy  burdened  the  minds  of  those 
who  tended  him  in  infancy,  and  his  childish  thoughts  soon 
took  a  serious  hue. 

But  before  his  childhood  ended  the  gloom  that  hung  about 

his  country  and  his  family's  prospects  was  lightened.     The 

superstitious  Queen  Mary,  having  restored  to  her 
Queen  ./  o 

Elizabeth's  country  its  old  religion,  died  prematurely,  and  her 
work  was  quickly  undone  by  her  sister  and  suc- 
cessor. Queen  Elizabeth.  Fortune  at  length  smiled  again 
on  the  English  throne,  and  the  new  sovereign  won  by  her 
resolute  temper,  her  self-possession  and  her  patriotism,  her 
people's  regard  and  love.  Slowly  but  surely  the  paths  of 
peace  were  secured.     The  spirit  of  the  nation  was  relieved 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  67 

of   the    griefs    of    religious    and    civil   conflict.      The    Muses 
flourished  in  England  as  never  before. 

On  Sidney's  domestic  circle,  too,  a  new  era  of  hope  dawned. 
His  mother's  brother,  the  ill-fated  Duke  of  Northumberland's 
younger  son,    Robert   Dudley,   Earl  of   Leicester,    Sidney's 
became  Queen  Elizabeth's  favoured  courtier,  and,    garl^of  ^ 
by    a    strange   turn    of    fortune's   wheel,   wielded,    Leicester, 
despite    his    father's    disgrace    and    death,    immense    political 
influence.     Throughout  Sidney's  adult  life  his  uncle,  Leices- 
ter,   who,    although    unprincipled    and     self-indulgent,    had 
affection  for  his  kindred,  was  the   most  powerful  figure   in 
English   public   life.      Such   advantages   as   come   of   a   near 
kinsman's  great  place  in  the  political  world  lay  at  Sidney's 
disposal  in  boyhood  and  early  manhood. 


Ill 

The  boy  was  at  first  brought  up  at  Penshurst,  but  was 
soon  taken  further  west,  to  Ludlow  Castle.  At  the  time 
his  father,  in  the  interval  of  two  terms  of  gov-  AtShrews- 
ernment  in  Ireland,  was  President  of  the  princi-  ^^''^  «^^°°^' 
pality  of  Wales,  which  was  then  separately  governed  by  a 
high  officer  of  state.  Ludlow  Castle,  then  a  noble  palace, 
now  a  magnificent  ruin,  was  his  official  residence.  Owing  to 
his  father's  residence  in  the  western  side  of  England,  the 
boy  Philip  was  sent  to  school  at  Shrewsbury,  which  was  just 
coming   into   fame   as    a   leading   public   school. 

On  the  same  day  there  entered  Shrewsbury  school  another 
boy  of  good  family,  who   also   attained  great  reputation   in 
literature  and  politics,  Fulke  Greville,  afterwards     YnVke 
Lord  Brooke.     Greville  was  a  poet  at  heart,   al-    Greville. 
though  involved  and  mystical  in  utterance.     He  was  Sidney's 
lifelong   friend,   and   subsequently   his   biographer.      Greville 


68  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

died  forty-two  years  after  his  friend,  but  the  memory  of 
their  association  sank  so  deep  in  his  mind  and  heart  that, 
despite  all  the  other  honours  which  he  won  in  mature  life, 
he  had  it  inscribed  on  his  tomb  that  he  was  '  Friend  to  Sir 
Philip  Sidney.' 

Sidney  was  a  serious  and  thoughtful  boy.     Of  his  youth 
his    companion,    Greville,    wrote : — '  I    will    report    no    other 

wonder  than  this^  that,  though  I  lived  with  him 
serious  and  knew   him   from   a   child,  yet   I   never  knew 

him   other   than    a    man,   with    such    staidness    of 

mind,    lovely    and    familiar    gravity,    as    carried    grace    and 

reverence  above   greater  years;   his   talk  ever  of  knowledge, 

and  his  very  play  tending  to  enrich  his  mind,  so  that  even 

his   teachers   found   something  in   him  to   observe   and  learn 

above  that  which  they  had  usually  read  or  taught.      Which 

eminence   by   nature    and   industry   made   his   worthy    father 

style    Sir    Philip    in    my    hearing,    though    I    unseen,    lumen 

families  suce  (light  of  his  household).'     Gravity  of  demeanour 

characterised  Sidney  at  all  periods  of  his  life. 

From  childhood  Sidney  was  a  lover  of  learning.     At  eleven 

years  old  he  could  write  letters  in  French  and  Latin;   and 

his   father   gave  him  while   a  lad   advice   on  the 
At  Oxford.  ^ 

moral  conduct  of  life  which  seemed  to  fit  one  of 

far  maturer  years.  The  precocious  spirit  of  the  Renaissance 
made  men  of  boys,  and  youths  went  to  the  University  in  the 
sixteenth  century  at  a  far  earlier  age  than  now.  At  four- 
teen Philip  left  Shrewsbury  school  for  the  University  of 
Oxford — for  the  great  foundation  of  Christ  Church,  to 
which  at  an  earlier  epoch  More  had  wended  his  way.  At 
Oxford  Sidney  eagerly  absorbed  much  classical  learning, 
and  gathered  many  new  friends.  His  tutor  was  fascinated 
by  his  studious  ardour,  and  he,  too,  like  Sidney's  friend 
Greville,  left  directions   for  the  fact  that  Sidney  had  been 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  69 

his  pupil  to  be  recorded  on  his  tombstone.  As  at  school 
so  at  college  Greville  was  Sidney's  most  constant  companion. 
The  Protestant  faith,  which  Queen  Elizabeth  had  re- 
established, was  now  the  dominant  religion,  and  Sidney,  at 
school  and  college,  warmly  embraced  the  doctrines  of  the 
Reformation.  But  religious  observances  which  dated  from 
the  older  papal  regime  were  still  in  vogue  in  England,  and 
from  one  of  them  Philip  as  an  undergraduate  sought  relief. 
His  health  was  delicate.  His  influential  uncle,  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  was  well  alive  to  his  promise,  and  he  obtained  a 
licence  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  for  the  boy  to 
eat  flesh  in  Lent,  'because  he  was  subject  to  sickness.' 

The  circumstance  that  Sidney  was  the  Earl  of  Leicester's 
nephew  placed  many  other  special  privileges  within  his  reach. 
It  opened  to  him  the  road  to  the  Court,  and  gained 
for  him  personal  introduction  to  the  great  states-  Burghley's 
men  of  the  time.  Queen  Elizabeth's  astute  Lord 
Treasurer  and  Prime  Minister,  Sir  William  Cecil,  afterwards 
Lord  Burghley,  came  through  Leicester  to  know  of  Sidney 
in  his  youth,  and  while  at  Oxford  Philip  spent  a  vacation 
with  the  statesman's  family,  who  then  lived  near  London,  at 
Hampton  Court.  The  experienced  minister — like  all  who 
met  Philip — acknowledged  infinite  attraction  in  the  youth. 
'  I  do  love  him,'  he  said,  '  as  he  were  my  own,'  and  he  was 
moved  by  parental  sentiment  to  suggest  means  whereby  the 
lad  might  become  *  his  own.'  He  proposed  to  Philip's  father, 
after  the  manner  of  parents  of  that  time,  a  marriage  between 
his  elder  daughter  and  the  boy.  Marriages  in  the  higher 
ranks  of  society  were  in  those  days  rarely  arranged  by  the 
persons  chiefly  concerned.  Parents  acted  as  principals 
throughout  the  negotiations.  Fathers  and  mothers  were  al- 
ways anxious  to  marry  off"  daughters  as  soon  as  they  left 
the  nursery.     Sons  might  wait  a  little  longer.     The  girl  in 


70  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

the  present  case  was  only  thirteen.  Philip  was  two  years 
older.  Money  was  the  pivot  on  which  such  matrimonial  com- 
pacts turned.  But  Sir  Henry  Sidney  could  not  afford  to 
make  much  pecuniary  provision  for  his  son.  The  Earl  of 
Leicester  did  what  he  could  to  forward  the  auspicious  project. 
He  undertook  to  provide  his  nephew,  Philip,  with  an  income 
of  near  £300  a  year  on  the  day  of  his  marriage  with  the 
Prime  Minister's  daughter,  and  promised  something  like 
three  times  that  amount  at  a  subsequent  period.  The  dis- 
cussion went  far  between  the  parents,  but  the  scheme  was 
ultimately  wrecked  on  pecuniary  rocks.  The  girl's  father 
wavered,  and,  on  further  consideration,  thought  it  well  to 
seek  a  suitor  who  was  richer  in  his  own  right.  Sidney 
was  rejected.  The  young  lady  married  a  wealthier  young 
nobleman,  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  between  whom  and  Sidney 
no  love  was  lost  thenceforth.  The  Earl  of  Oxford  was  a 
poet  and  a  lover  of  poetry,  but  the  new  culture  left  no 
impress  on  his  manners.  Boorish  and  sullen  tempered.  Lord 
Burghley's  new  son-in-law  assimilated  the  crude  vices  of 
the  Renaissance.     His  nature  rejected  its  urbanities. 

Epidemic  disease,  in  days  when  cleanliness  was  reckoned 
a  supererogatory  virtue,  devastated  at  frequent  intervals  Eng- 
The  plague  ^^^^  ^^^  Europe.  An  outbreak  of  the  plague  at 
at  Oxford.  Oxford  cut  short  Philip's  career  there.  Students 
were  scattered  in  all  directions.  At  seventeen  Sidney  left 
the  University.  He  did  not  return  to  it.  His  education 
was  pursued  thereafter  in  a  wider  sphere. 


A  year  later  Sidney  obtained  permission  from  the  Queen  to 
travel  abroad  for  the  extended  period  of  two  years.  Thereby 
he  gained  a  more  extended  knowledge   of  life   and  letters 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  71 

than  was  accessible  at  home.  The  value  of  foreign  travel 
as  a  means  of  education  was  never  better  under-  Foreign 
stood,  in  spite  of  rudimentary  means  of  locomo-  *^*^®  • 
tion,  than  by  the  upper  classes  of  Elizabethan  England. 
All  who  drank  deep  of  the  new  culture  had  seen  *  the 
wonders  of  the  world  abroad.'  Sidney's  keen-witted  uncle, 
Leicester,  recognised  that  his  nephew,  despite  his  promise, 
was  as  yet  *  young  and  raw.*  The  French  Court  was  already 
famed  for  its  courtesy.  Thither  his  uncle  sent  him  with 
a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  English  Ambassador  there. 
Sir  Francis  Walsingham.  Walsingham,  a  politician  of  rare 
acumen,  and  a  man  of  cultivated  taste,  had  fashioned  himself 
on  the  model  of  Macchiavelli,  the  Florentine.  Intercourse 
with  him  was  well  qualified  to  sharpen  a  pensive  youth's 
intellect. 

Sidney's  foreign  tour  was  only  destined  to  begin  in  France. 
It  was  to  extend  to  both  the  east  and  south  of  Europe.  His 
Parisian  experiences,  as  events  proved,  were  cal- 
culated to  widen  his  views  of  Life  and  deepen  his 
serious  temper  more  effectually  than  to  polish  his  manners 
or  to  foster  in  him  social  graces.  Sidney  stayed  three 
months  at  the  English  Embassy  in  Paris.  He  went  to  the 
French  Court,  and  was  well  received  by  the  Protestant 
leaders,  the  leaders  of  the  Huguenots,  a  resolute  minority 
of  the  French  people,  who  were  pledged  to  convert  France 
at  aU  hazards  into  a  Protestant  country.  Ronsard  was  the 
living  master  of  French  poetry,  and  Sidney  readily  yielded 
himself  to  the  fascination  of  the  delicate  harmonies  and 
classical  imagery  of  the  Frenchman's  muse.  But  while  Philip 
was  still  forming  his  first  impressions  of  the  French  capital, 
Paris  and  the  world  suffered  a  great  shock.  The  forces  of 
civilisation  seemed  in  an  instant  paralyzed.  The  massacre 
of   the   Protestants   in    Paris    by   the   French   Government — 


72  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

or  the  leaders  of  the  Catholic  majority — on  St.  Batholomew's 
The  St.  ^^y   (23rd  August  1572)   is  one  of  those  crimes 

Smew°"  ^^    history    of    which    none    can    read    without    a 

Massacre.  shudder.  For  the  time  it  gave  new  life  to  the 
worst  traditions  of  barbarism.  Sidney  was  safe  at  the  em- 
bassy, and  ran  no  personal  risk  while  the  fiendish  work  was 
in  progress.  But  his  proximity  to  this  Catholic  carnival 
of  blood  inflamed  his  hatred  of  the  cause  to  which  it  minis- 
tered, and  intensified  his  Protestant  ardour.  Until  his  death 
every  persecuted  Huguenot  could  reckon  in  him  a  devoted 
friend. 

When  the  news  of  the  great  crime  reached  England  Sid- 
ney's friends  were  alarmed  for  his  safety.     Lord  Burghley 
and  Lord  Leicester  bade  Walsingham  procure  pass- 

for  ports  for  the  youth  to  leave  France  for  Germany. 

Germany. 

Religious   turmoil — ^the    strife   of    Protestant    and 

Catholic — infected  Germany  as  well  as  France,  but  the  scale 

in  Germany  seemed  turning  in  the  Protestant  direction,  and 

there  was  small  likelihood  there  of  danger  to  a  Protestant 

traveller. 

In  Germany  learning  of  the   severest  type  was  then,   as 

now,  sedulously  cultivated.     Sidney  soon  reached  Frankfort. 

_  There  he  lodged  with  Andrew  Wechel,  a  learned 

The  meet-  ^ 

ingwith         printer  in  Hebrew  and  Greek,  and  gathered  imder 

his  roof  the  latest  fruit  of  Renaissance  scholarship. 

Printing — still  a  comparatively  new  art — was  a  learned  and 

a  scholarly  profession,   and   German  printers  had   earned   a 

high    repute    for    disinterested    encouragement    of    classical 

proficiency.     A  fellow-lodger  at  this  learned  printer's  house 

was  Hubert  Languet,  a  Huguenot  controversialist  and  scholar. 

Languet,    a    quiet    thoughtful    student,    was    fifty-four    years 

old,    no    less    than    thirty-five    years    Sidney's    senior.      But, 

despite   the    disparity   of    age,    Sidney's    heart   went   out    at 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  73 

once  to   the   exile   from    France   for   conscience'    sake.      The 

Frenchman    on    his    side    was    attracted    by    the    sympathetic 

bearing  of  the  young  traveller,  and  there  sprang  up  between 

them  a  lasting  and  attractive   friendship.      Languet,   Sidney 

said   afterwards,  taught  him   all  he  knew   of   literature   and 

religion. 

From    Frankfort   Sidney   went   on   to   Vienna,   the   capital 

of  Austria,  and  the  home  of  the  ruler  of  the  Holy  Roman 

Empire.     There  the  Renaissance  was  held  in  check 

^       At  Vienna. 
by  mediaeval  tradition  and  prejudice,  and  Sidneys 

first  stay  there  was  short.  For  the  moment  Vienna  was  a 
mere  halting-place  in  his  progress  towards  what  was  the 
land  of  promise  for  all  enlightened  wayfarers.  He  passed 
quickly  to  the  true  home  of  the  Renaissance, — to  Italy,  where 
all  the  artistic,  literary,  and  scientific  impulses  of  contempo- 
rary culture  were  still  aglow  with  the  fire  of  the  new  spirit. 

Most    of   his    time   was    spent    in    Venice.      That 

At  Venice, 
city  of  the  sea  seemed  to  him  to  owe  its  existence 

to  the  rod  of  an  enchanter,  and  cast  on  him  the  spell  of 
her  artistic  and  intellectual  triumphs  in  their  glistening  fresh- 
ness. At  Venice  Sidney  studied  with  characteristic  versa- 
tility the  newest  developments  of  astronomy  and  music.  He 
read  much  history  and  current  Italian  literature.  He  steeped 
himself  in  the  affectations  of  the  disciples  of  the  dead 
Petrarch,  and  eagerly  absorbed  the  rich  verse  of  the  living 
Tasso.  He  was  entertained  magnificently  by  Venetian  mer- 
chants. But  above  all  he  came  to  know  the  great  Italian 
painters,  Tintoretto  and  Paolo  Veronese,  in  whom  Venetian 
pictorial  art,  if  not  the  pictorial  art  of  the  world,  came  nearest 
perfection.  In  all  directions  Sidney  came  to  close  quarters 
with  contemporary  culture  of  the  most  finished  kind. 

The  sensual  levities   of  Venetian  society  made  no  appeal 
to  Sidney,  who  still  took  life  in  a  solemn  spirit.     He  avoided 


74  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

the  pleasures  of  youth.  His  friends  thought  him  almost  too 
Seriousness  serious,  too  sad  and  thoughtful  for  a  young  man 
of  temper.  ^^  twenty  or  twenty-one.  Sidney  admitted  that  he 
was  *  more  sober  than  my  age  or  business  requires,'  and  he 
endured  patiently  the  sarcasms  of  those  to  whom  zeal  for 
things  of  the  mind  was  always  a  synonym  for  dulness  and 
boredom.  Although  he  was  a  good  horseman,  he  was  never 
a  sportsman,  and  the  story  is  told  by  a  friend,  Sir  John 
Harington,  that  of  the  noble  and  fashionable  recreations  of 
hawking  and  hunting,  Sidney  was  wont  to  say  that  next  to 
hunting,  he  liked  hawking  worst.  The  falconers  and  hunters, 
Harington  proceeded,  would  be  even  with  him,  and  would 
say  that  bookish  fellows  such  as  he  could  judge  of  no  sports 
but  those  within  the  verge  of  the  fair  fields  of  Helicon, 
Pindus  and  Parnassus.  It  was  no  brilliant  jest,  but  the 
anecdote  testifies  to  the  exceptional  refinement  of  temper  and 
the  independence  of  social  convention  that  Sidney  acquired 
early  and  enjoyed  in  permanence. 

Not  that  Sidney  had  keen  eyes  and  ears  only  for  what  was 
passing  about  him  in  spheres  of  literature  and  art.  Every 
serious  interest  that  weighed  with  intelligent  men  found  some 
Protestant  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^  being.  He  was  fast  gathering  political 
^     •  convictions  on  his  foreign  tour;  he  was  watching 

narrowly  the  strife  of  Protestant  and  Catholic,  and  his 
nascent  enthusiasm  for  the  future  of  the  Protestant  religion 
in  Europe,  which  he  identified  with  the  free  development  of 
human  thought,  mounted  high. 

As  the  nephew  of  the  Queen  of  England's  favourite,  Leices- 
ter,  Sidney   could   count   on   a   respectful   hearing,   when   he 

enunciated     political     opinions.       Occult     English 
Diplomatic 

employ-  diplomacy    honeycombed    continental    courts,    and 

ment. 

those   in   close   touch   at   home   with    the    English 

sovereign   were    credited   with    an    exaggerated    power    over 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  75 

her,  which  it  was  to  the  advantage  of  foreign  potentates  to 
conciliate.  Sidney,  as  his  continental  tour  lengthened,  and 
the  attractions  of  his  personality  attained  wider  recognition, 
was  held  to  reflect  something  of  his  uncle's  influence  and  his 
country's  glory.  When  he  returned  to  Vienna  from  Venice, 
there  was  talk  of  his  offering  himself  as  a  candidate  for 
a  European  throne — ^the  vacant  throne  of  Poland — which 
was  filled  by  electoral  vote.  The  suggestion  came  to  nothing, 
but  it  illustrated  the  spreading  faith  in  his  fitness  for  po- 
litical responsibilities.  Finally,  in  his  anxiety  to  perfect  his 
political  experience,  he  accepted  an  ofl'er  of  employment 
as  Secretary  at  the  English  Legation  in  Vienna.  Despite  his 
antipathy  to  sport,  he  yielded  to  friendly  advice,  and  learned, 
in  the  Austrian  capital,  horsemanship — all  the  intricate  graces 
of  the  equestrian  art — of  the  Emperor's  esquire  of  the 
stables. 

Sidney's  friends  in  England  were  growing  alarmed  at  his 
long  absence  on  the  Continent  of  Europe.  They  had  not 
yet  fully  understood  him.     They  feared  that  he    j^^^^^^j^^ 

might  be  converted  to  Catholicism,  which  in  Aus-    foreign 

o  tour, 

tria  had  mastered  the  Protestant  revolt,  or  that  he 

might  be  corrupted  by  the  fantastic  vice  of  Italy.  At  his 
friends'  instance,  when  three  years — a  goodly  part  of  his 
short  life — had  ended,  he  made  his  way  home.  On  the 
journey  he  greatly  extended  his  intercourse  with  scholars 
who  were  settled  in  Germany.  At  Heidelberg  he  met  the 
greatest  of  scholar-printers,  Henri  Etienne  or  Stephens. 
Stephens,  whose  name  is  honoured  by  all  who  honour  scholar- 
ship, afterwards  dedicated  to  Sidney  an  edition — an  editio 
princeps—o£  a  late  Greek  historian,  Herodian.  Sidney  re- 
turned home  under  the  sway  of  the  purest  influences  that 
dominated  the  art,  literature,  and  scholarship  of  the  Con- 
tinental Renaissance.     His  moral  sense  had  triumphed  over 


76  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

the  current  temptations  to  sensual  indulgence.  His  Pro- 
testantism was  untainted.  Only  that  which  was  of  good 
repute  had  lent   sustenance  to  his   mind   or  heart. 

V 

Settled  in  England,  Sidney,  like  all  young  men  of  good 

family,  was  formally  presented  to  his  sovereign.     As  nephew 

of  the  Court  favourite,  Leicester,  he  was  heartily 

At  Court.  ^ 

welcomed  by  the  Queen,  and  was  admitted  to  the 

select  circle  of  her  attendants.  Attached  to  the  Court 
he  largely  occupied  his  time  in  its  splendid  recreations.  He 
AtKenil-  ^^"^  ^^  Kenilworth  in  1576  when  his  uncle 
worth.  Leicester  gave  that  elaborate  and  fantastic  enter- 

tainment in  honour  of  the  Queen's  visit,  which  fills  a  glow- 
ing page  in  Elizabethan  history.  It  is  reasonable  to  conjec- 
ture that  in  the  crowd  of  neighbouring  peasants  who  came 
to  gaze  at  the  gorgeous  spectacles — the  decorations,  the 
triumphal  arches,  the  masques,  the  songs,  the  fireworks — 
was  John  Shakespeare,  from  Stratford-on-Avon,  a  dozen 
miles  off,  and  that  John  brought  with  him  his  eldest  son 
William — the  poet  and  dramatist,  whose  fame  was  completely 
to  eclipse  that  of  any  of  the  great  lords  and  ladies  in  the 
retinue  of  their  sovereign.  Reminiscences  of  the  great  fete, 
with  its  magnificent  pageantry,  are  traceable  in  a  spirited 
speech  of  the  dramatist's  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 
They  are  actual  incidents  in  the  scenic  and  musical  devices 
at  Kenilworth  which  Oberon  describes  in  his  picture  of 

'A  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back, 
[Uttering]  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath. 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song.' 

But  if  Sidney's  uncle  sought  by  his  splendid  shows  inex- 
tricably to  entangle  the  Queen's  affections,  he  failed.  *  Young 
Cupid's  fiery  shaft'  missed  its  aim; 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  77 

*And  the  imperial  votaress  passed  on 
In  maiden  meditation,  fancy  free.' 

From   Kenilworth   Sidney  went  on  a  visit  with  his   sove- 
reign to  another  great  house,  Chartley  Castle,  the  owner  of 
which,   the   first   Earl   of    Essex,    was    Leicester's     penelope 
successor  as  the  Queen's  host.     The  visit  exerted 
important  influence  on  Philip's   future.      There   he   first   met 
the  Earl's  daughter  Penelope,  who,  although  then  only  a  girl 
of  twelve,  was  soon  to  excite  in  him  a  deep,  if  not  passionate, 
interest.      It  was,  however,  her   father,  the   Earl  of   Essex, 
who  like  so  many  other  eminent  men  and  women,  first  fell 
under    Sidney's    spell.      The    Earl    delighted    in    the    young 
man's    sympathetic    society,    and    invited   him    to    accompany 
him  to  Ireland,  whither  he  went  to  fill  a  high  official  post. 
Sidney's  father  was  once  again  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland,  and 
Sidney  was   glad  of  the  opportunity  of  visiting  his  family. 
Together  he  and  his  new  friend  crossed  the  Irish   Channel. 
But  the   journey   had   an   unhappy   outcome.      The   Earl   of 
Essex  was  taken  ill  at  Dublin   and  died  immediately   after 
he  had  landed.      His   last  words   were  unqualified  love   and 
admiration    for    Philip.      'I    wish    him    well— so    well    that, 
if  God  move  their  hearts,  I  wish  that  he  might  match  with 
my  daughter.     I   call  him  son— he  is  so  wise,  virtuous,  and 
godly.     If  he  go  on  in  the  course  he  hath  begun,  he  will 
be    as    famous    and    worthy    a    gentleman    as    ever    England 

bred.' 

The  Earl's  dying  wish  that  he  should  marry  his  daughter 
bore  wayward  fruit;  it  was  fraught  with  consequences  for 
which  the  Earl  had  not  looked.  Philip  was  noAV  'Astrophel^ 
a  serious  youth  of  twenty-two;  Penelope  was  only  and  Stella, 
fourteen.  Like  her  brother,  the  new  Earl  of  Essex,  who 
was  to  succeed  the  Earl  of  Leicester  in  Queen  Elizabeth's 


78  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

favour,  and  then,  after  much  storm  and  strife,  to  sacrifice 
his  life  to  pique  and  uncontrollable  temper,  Penelope  De- 
vereux  was  impetuous  and  precocious.  She  was  gifted  with 
a  coquettish  disposition,  which  was  of  doubtful  augury  for 
the  happiness  of  herself  and  her  admirers.  Encouraged  by 
her  dead  father's  hopes,  she  sought  Philip's  admiration.  He 
made  kindly  response.  Passion  did  not  enslave  him.  A 
gentle  attachment  sprang  up  between  them,  and  Sidney 
turned  it  to  literary  account.  In  accordance  with  the  fashion 
of  the  day  he  began  addressing  to  Penelope  a  series  of 
sonnets,  in  which  he  called  himself  *  Astrophel '  and  the 
young  girl  '  Stella.'  Nothing  came  of  this  courtship  except 
the  sonnets.  Penelope  soon  married  another.  Sidney,  a 
few  years  later,  also  married  another.  But  *  Astrophel,' 
with  full  approval  of  his  sister  and  subsequently  of  his  wife, 
never  ceased  to  cultivate  a  platonic  and  literary  friendship 
with  the  daughter  of  his  dead  friend,  the  Earl  of  Essex, 
both  while  she  was  a  maid  and  after  she  became  another's 
wife.  He  continued  to  address  poetry  to  *  Stella '  till  near 
his  death. 

The  sonnet-sequence  called  *  Astrophel  and  Stella,'  which 
owed  its  being  to  Sidney's  faculty  for  friendship,  was  prob- 
Sidney's  ^^^^  Sidney's  earliest  sustained  attempt  at  litera- 

sonnets.  ^^j.^       rpj^^  collection   illustrates   with   exceptional 

clearness  the  influence  that  the  Renaissance  literature  of 
France  and  Italy  had  exerted  on  him  during  his  recent 
travels.  By  these  sonnets,  too,  he  signally  developed  a 
tract  of  literature,  which  had  hitherto  yielded  in  England 
a  barren  harvest. 

Though  Dante  was  an  admirable  sonnetteer,  it  was  his 
successor,  Petrarch,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  whose  example 
gave  the  sonnet  its  lasting  vogue  in  Europe.     The  far-famed 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  79 

collection  of  sonnets  which  Petrarch  addressed  to  his  lady- 
love Laura  generated,  not  only  in  his  own  country 

but  also  in  France  and  Spain,  a  spirit  of  imitation     of  the 

sonnet. 
and    adaptation    which    was    exceptionally    active 

while  Sidney  was  on  his  travels.  Early  in  the  sixteenth 
century  two  of  Henry  viii.'s  courtiers.  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt 
and  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  had  made  some  effort  to  familiarise 
the  English  people  with  Petrarch's  work,  by  rendering  por- 
tions of  it  into  the  English  tongue.  But  the  effort  ceased 
with  their  death.  Subsequently,  in  Sidney's  youth,  the  vogue 
of  the  Petrarchan  sonnet  spread  to  France.  The  contem- 
porary poets,  Ronsard,  Du  Bellay,  and  their  associates,  wrote 
thousands  of  sonnets  on  the  Italian  model.  It  was  in  France 
that  Sidney  practically  discovered  the  sonnet  for  England 
anew.  He,  like  two  other  poets  of  his  own  generation, 
Thomas  Watson  and  Edmund  Spenser,  who  essayed  sonnet- 
teering  about  the  same  time,  gained  his  first  knowledge  of 
the  sonnet  from  the  recent  French  development  of  it,  with 
which  his  visit  to  Paris  familiarised  him,  rather  than  from 
its  original  Italian  source,  of  which  he  drank  later.  Not 
that  Sidney  did  not  quickly  pass  from  the  examples  of 
France,  to  the  parent  efforts  of  Italy,  but  it  was  France, 
as  the  undertone  of  his  sonnets  prove,  that  gave  the  first 
spur  to  Sidney's  sonnetteering  energy.  The  influence  of 
Ronsard  is  at  least  as  conspicuous  as  that  of  Petrarch, 
and  of  Petrarch's  sixteenth-century  disciples  in  Italy.  But, 
in  whatever  proportions  the  inspiration  is  to  be  precisely 
distributed  between  France  and  Italy,  nearly  all  of  it  came 
from  the  Continent  of  Europe.  Sidney's  endeavour  quickly 
acquired  in  England  an  extended  vogue,  and  thereby  Sidney 
helped  to  draw  Elizabethan  poetry  into  the  broad  currents 
of  continental  culture. 

The  sonnet   of   sixteenth-century   Europe  was   steeped   in 


80  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

the  Platonic  idealism  which  Petrarch  had  first  conspicuously 
Platonic  enlisted  in  the  service  of  poetry.  Earthly  beauty 
idealism.  ^^g  ^.j^^  reflection  of  an  eternal  celestial  type,  and 
the  personal  experiences  of  the  sonnetteer  were  subordinated 
to  the  final  aim  of  celebrating  the  praises  of  the  immortal 
pattern  or  idea  of  incorporeal  beauty.  The  path  of  the 
sonnetteer  as  defined  by  the  Petrarchists — disciples  of  Pe- 
trarch in  Italy  and  France — was  bounded  by  a  series  of 
conventional  conceits,  which  gave  little  scope  to  the  writer's 
original  invention.  Genuine  affairs  of  the  heart,  the  un- 
controllable fever  of  passion,  could  have  only  remote  and 
shadowy  concern  with  the  misty  idealism  and  hyperbolical 
fancies  of  which  the  sonnet  had  to  be  woven.  Sidney's 
addresses  to  '  Stella '  follow  with  fidelity  Petrarch's  arche- 
typal celebration  of  his  love  for  Laura.  Petrarchan  idealism 
permeates  his  imagination.  The  far-fetched  course,  which 
the  exposition  of  his  amorous  experience  pursues,  is  defined 
by  his  reading  in  the  poetry  of  Petrarch,  and  of  Petrarch*s 
French  and  Italian  pupils.  His  hopes  and  fears,  his  apos- 
trophes to  the  river  Thames,  to  sleep,  to  the  nightingale, 
to  the  moon,  and  to  his  lady-love's  eyes,  sound  many  a 
sweet  and  sympathetic  note,  but  most  of  them  echo  the 
foreign  voices.  At  times  Sidney's  lines  are  endowed  with  a 
finer  music  than  English  ears  can  detect  in  the  original  har- 
monies, but  he  nearly  always  moves  in  the  circle  of  sentiment 
and  idea  which  foreign  effort  had  consecrated  to  the  son- 
net. To  the  end  he  was  loyal  to  his  masters,  and  he  closes 
his  addresses  to  'Stella '  in  Petrarch's  most  characteristic 
key.  In  his  concluding  sonnet  he  adapts  with  rare  felicity 
the  Italian  poet's  solemn  and  impressive  renunciation  of  love's 
empire : — 

'Leave  me,  O  love,  which  reachest  but  to  dust. 
And  thou,  my  mind,  aspire  to  higher  things.' 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  81 

Perfect  sincerity  and  sympathy  distinguish  Sidney's  final  act 

of  homage  to  the  greatest  of  his  poetic  masters. 

None    of    Sidney's    poetic    fellow-comitrymen    assimilated 

more  thoroughly  the  manner  or  matter  of  their  poetic  tutors. 

In  metrical  respects  especially,  Sidney  showed  as  a  sonnet- 

teer  far  greater  loyalty  to  foreign  models  than  any  of  the 

Elizabethan  sonnetteers  who  succeeded  him.     Al- 

1  he  metre 

most  all  his  successors,  while  they  endeavoured  to    of  the 

sonnets. 
reproduce  the  foreign  imagery  and  ideas,  ignored 

foreign  rules  of  prosody.  Sidney  sought  to  reproduce  the 
foreign  metres  as  well  as  the  foreign  imagery  and  ideas. 
In  gradually  unfolding  the  single  idea  which  the  true  son- 
net develops,  he  knew  the  value  of  quatrains  and  tercets 
linked  together  by  interlaced  rhymes.  He  saw  the  danger 
of  incoherence  or  abruptness  in  the  accepted  English  habit 
of  terminating  the  poem  by  a  couplet,  in  which  the  rhymes 
were  imconnected  with  those  preceding  it.  Five  rhymes, 
variously  distributed  (not  seven  rhymes,  after  the  later  Eng- 
lish rule),  sufficed  for  the  foreign  sonnet,  and  Sidney  proved 
that  a  close  student  of  foreign  literature  could  work  out 
an  English  sonnet  under  like  restriction  without  loss  of 
energy. 

Sidney's   sonnets   were   in   his   lifetime   circulated   only   in 
manuscript.     They  were  first  published  five  years  after  his 

death.      Whether  in  manuscript  or   in  print  they 

Influence 
met  with  an  extraordinarily  enthusiastic  reception,     of  his 

sonnets. 
and  stimulated  sonnetteering  activity  in  Eliza- 
bethan England  to  an  extent  which  has  had  no  parallel 
at  later  epochs.  *  Stella,'  Sidney's  poetic  heroine,  received 
in  England  for  a  generation  homage  resembling  that  which 
was  accorded  in  Italy  to  Laura,  Petrarch's  poetic  heroine, 
whose  lineaments  she  reflected.  Apart  from  considerations 
of   poetic   merit,    Sidney's    sonnets    form   an   imposing   land- 

F 


82  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

mark  in  the  annals  of  English  literature^  by  virtue  of  the 
popularity  they  conferred  on  the  practice  of  penning  long 
series  or  sequences  of  sonnets  of  love.  Their  progeny  is 
legion.  In  all  ranks  of  the  literary  hierarchy  their  issue 
abounded.  Sidney's  eiForts  were  the  moving  cause  of  Spen- 
ser's collection  of  *  Amoretti/  and  it  is  more  important  to 
record  that  to  their  example  stands  conspicuously  in- 
debted the  great  sonnetteering  achievement  of  Shakespeare 
himself. 

VI 

The  composition  of  Sidney's  sonnets  was  pursued  amid  the 
practical  work   of  life.      It  was  never  his   ambition  nor  his 

intention  to  become  a  professional  poet  and  man 
No  pro-  ^ 

fessional  of  letters.  His  devotion  to  literature  shed  its  glow 
poet. 

over  all  his  interests.  But  his  most  active  ener- 
gies were  absorbed  by  other  than  literary  endeavours.  *  The 
truth  is/  wrote  his  friend  Greville^  '  his  end  was  not  writ- 
ing, even  while  he  wrote,  nor  his  knowledge  moulded  for 
tables  and  schools, — but  both  his  wit  and  understanding  bent 
upon  his  heart,  to  make  himself  and  others,  not  in  words 
or  opinion,  but  in  life  and  action,  good  and  great.' 

Like  all  young  men  of  his  rank  and  prospects,  Sidney 
proposed  to  devote  the  main  part  of  his  career  to  the  public 
Political  service.      An  early  opportunity  of  gratifying   his 

ambitions,  ^j^j^  seemed  to  offer.  Early  in  1577,  while  he 
was  no  more  than  twenty-three,  an  active  political  career 
appeared  to  await  his  will.  He  was  entrusted  with  a  diplo- 
matic mission,  which,  although  it  was  of  an  elementary 
type,  put  no  small  strain  on  his  youthful  faculties.  He  was 
bidden  carry  messages  of  congratulation  from  Queen  Eliza- 
beth to  two  foreign  sovereigns,  both  of  whom  had  just 
succeeded  to  their  thrones,  the  Elector  Palatine  at  Heidel- 
berg, and  the  new  Emperor  Rudolph  ii.  at  Prague. 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  83 

Sidney  threw  himself  into  his  work  with  vigour  and  en- 
thusiasm— with  more  vigour  indeed  than  was  habitual  to  the 
hardened  politician.  He  would  do  more  than  the  mere  blood- 
less work  which  diplomacy  required  of  him.  He  would  break 
a  lance  for  his  personal  principles  as  well  as  carry  out  his 
sovereign's  commands.  He  endeavoured  to  influence  the 
policy  and  aspirations  of  the  rulers  of  the  countries  that  he 
visited.  It  was  indiscretion  on  the  part  of  an  ambassador 
which  was  likely  to  breed  trouble. 

In  Heidelberg,  the  capital  city  of  the   Elector   Palatine's 

Protestant  state,  the  people  were  divided  between  Lutherans 

and  Calvinists,  and  the  two  parties  were  at  deadly 

'  ^  ^      AtHeidel- 

enmity  with  one  another.     Sidney  urged  on  both    berg  and 

sides  the  need  of  reconciliation,  but  neither  ap- 
proved with  any  warmth  the  interference  of  a  foreigner. 
Throughout  Germany  he  urged  on  rulers  the  formation  of  a 
great  Protestant  league  to  stem  the  spread  of  Catholic  doc- 
trine. At  the  Catholic  Court  of  Vienna  where  he  had  already 
accepted  frequent  hospitalities  and  was  held  in  high  esteem, 
he  slightly  changed  his  tone.  While  he  sought  to  consolidate 
and  unify  the  Protestant  views  of  Europe,  he  desired  to 
sow  dissension  among  the  Catholic  powers.  He  lectured  the 
newly  crowned  Emperor  on  the  iniquities  of  Spain  and 
Rome,  and  urged  on  him  the  duty  of  forming  another  league, 
a  great  league  of  nations  to  resist  Spanish  and  Romish 
tyranny.  He  was  listened  to  civilly,  if  not  with  serious 
attention. 

A  more  grateful  experience  befell  him  before  he  returned 
home.     On  his  way  back  to  England  he  was  ordered  by  the 
Queen's    Government  to   visit   Antwerp,   that   city     ^^ 
which  had  been  the  parent  of  More's   Utopia,  in    Antwerp. 
order    to    congratulate    the    Protestant    prince    and    general, 
William  the  Silent,  Prince  of  Orange,  on  the  birth  of  a  son. 


84  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

It  was  not  only  his  own  cultured  fellow-countrymen  nor  the 
poets  and  artists  of  foreign  lands  who  felt  the  spell  of 
Sidney's  character.  The  great  Dutch  leader,  the  taciturn 
master  of  the  supreme  arts  of  strategy  in  peace  and  war, 
was  captivated  by  the  young  Englishman's  fervour  and  in- 
telligence. Sidney  exerted  on  him  all  the  fascination  which 
Lord  Burghley  and  the  Earl  of  Essex  had  acknowledged. 
The  Prince  of  Orange,  who  was  reputed  never  to  speak 
a  needless  word,  declared  that  the  Queen  of  England  had 
in  Sidney  one  of  the  greatest  and  ripest  counsellors  that 
could  be  found  in  Europe. 

Despite  some  characteristic  display  of  youthful  impetuos- 
ity which  escaped  Prince  William's  notice,  the  tour  greatly 

added  to  Sidney's  reputation.  The  Queen's  Sec- 
His  success. 

retary,   Walsingham,  wrote  to   Sidney's   father  in 

Ireland  on  the  young  man's  return :  *  There  hath  not  been 
any  gentleman,  I  am  sure,  these  many  years,  that  hath  gone 
through  so  honourable  a  charge  with  as  good  commenda- 
tions as  he.' 

Sidney's  energy  and  activity  were  now  untamable.     '  Life 
and  action  '  were  now  all  in  all  to  him.     He  put  no  limits  to 

the  possibilities  of  his  achievement.     He  believed 
His 
views  on         himself  capable  of  solving  the  most  perplexing  of 

political  problems.  His  father,  who  was  a  liberal 
and  tolerant  statesman,  was  distracted  by  the  difficulties  in- 
separable from  Irish  rule.  With  the  self-confidence  that 
came  of  the  laudations  of  the  great,  Sidney  thought  to  aid 
him  by  writing  in  detail  on  the  perennial  problem.  He  had 
faith  in  the  justice  of  his  father's  methods  of  government, 
which  were  called  in  question  by  selfish  timeservers  in  high 
places.  Philip  pointed  to  the  dangers  of  the  arrogant  pre- 
tensions of  the  Anglo-Irish  nobility,  immigrants  from  Eng- 
land, who  dominated  the  native  population.     He  recommended 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  85 

equality  of  taxation.  He  showed  a  reasonable  interest  in  the 
native  Irish  which  few  other  Elizabethans  admitted,  and 
avowed  small  sympathy  with  the  Irish  landlord,  deference 
to  whose  selfish  claims  habitually  guided  the  home  policy. 
But  Sidney  was  preaching  to  deaf  ears,  and  was  merely 
jeopardising  his  chances  of  advancement. 

VII 

No  regular  work  in  the  service  of  the   state  was  offered 

Sidney.      Without    official    occupation    at    Court,    he    had    no 

opportunity  there  of  bending  his  wit  and  under-  . 

standing  to  the  exploits  of  '  life  and  action  '  for    occupa- 
tions. 
which  he  was  yearning.     He  was  impelled  to  seek 

compensation  in  those  intellectual  interests,  which  his  tem- 
perament, despite  his  professions  to  the  contrary,  would 
never  allow  him  to  forego  entirely.  For  the  entertainment 
of  the  Queen,  when  she  was  paying  another  visit  to  hisf 
uncle  Leicester,  he  wrote  a  crude  masque  of  conventional 
adulation,  called  *  The  Lady  of  the  May.'  The  slender  effort 
abounds  in  classical  conceits,  and  seeks  to  satirise  classical 
pedantry.  But  it  gives  no  promise  of  dramatic  faculty.  The 
little  piece  has,  however,  historic  value,  because  Shakespeare 
read  it,  and  partly  assimilated  it  in  his  Love's  Labour's  Lost, 
In  other  directions  Sidney  gave  fuller  scope  to  his  cultured 
intelligence..  He  sought  friends  amongst  poets,  painters, 
musicians,  and  engineers  (or  mechanicians),  and  he  showed 
stimulating  sympathy  with  their  work  and  ambition.  It  was 
with  men  of  letters  that  he  found  himself  most  at  home, 
and  with  the  greatest  Elizabethan  poet  of  all  who  were  the 
fore-runners  of  Shakespeare  he  formed,  by  a  fortunate 
chance,  at  a  midmost  point  of  his  adult  career,  a  memorable 
friendship,  which  increases  the  dignity  and  interest  of  his 
own   career. 


86  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

Sidney  was  often  at  his  uncle  Leicester's  house  in  London, 

and   there   Edmund   Spenser,  the   poet   and   moralist  of   the 

Faerie    Queene,   was    employed    for    a    time   in   a   secretarial 

capacity.     The  two  men  met,  and  a  warm  affection  at  once 

sprang  up  between  them.      Spenser  was  Sidney's 

with  senior  by  two  years;  when  they  became  acquainted 

Spenser. 

With  one  another  m  1578,  Sidney  was  twenty-four, 

Spenser  was  twenty-six.  It  was  the  younger  man  whom 
the  elder  at  first  hailed  as  master:  Spenser  was  anxious  to 
rank  as  Sidney's  admiring  disciple.  But  the  means  he  took 
to  announce  this  relationship  put  each  man  in  his  rightful 
place.  Spenser's  first  published  work — that  book  which 
heralded  the  great  Elizabethan  era  of  literature — the  Shep- 
heards  Calender,  is  distinguished  by  a  dedication  to  Sidney, 
*  the  president,'  Spenser  calls  him,  *  of  nobleness  and  chiv- 
alry.' The  patron  recognised  that  he  thereby  received  more 
honour  than  he  could  confer.  Of  all  reputations  the  one  that 
Sidney  most  valued  was  that  of  association  with  the  noblest 
figure  in  the  literature  of  his  day. 

Other  men  of  letters,  prominent  among  whom  was  the 
courtier  poet.  Sir  Edward  Dyer,  joined  Sidney  and  Spenser 
The  liter-  ^^  social  intercourse  at  Leicester  House.  The 
o?Tlae  nights  were  passed  in  eager  literary  debate.     The 

Areopagus.'  company  formed  itself  into  a  literary  club,  all 
members  of  which  were  fired  with  literary  zeal — with  zeal 
for  creating  an  English  literature  that  should  compete  with 
the  best  that  the  Continent  had  yet  produced.  A  like  am- 
bition had  fired  a  band  of  Frenchmen  of  the  previous  genera- 
tion, when  returning  from  travel  in  Italy.  A  like  ambition 
had  led  to  the  formation  in  France  of  that  little  regiment  of 
cultured  lyric  poets  which  christened  itself  *  La  Pleiade.* 
As  in  France  so  in  England,  the  poetic  pioneers  lay  under 
the  spell  of  the  great  classical  literature,  knowledge  of  which 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  87 

had  lately  reached  them  from  Italy.  The  future  of  literature 
depended,  they  erroneously  believed,  on  the  closeness  with 
which  it  fashioned  itself  on  classical  models.  Classical  style, 
classical  expression,  was  the  philosopher's  stone  which  could 
convert  the  dross  of  the  vernacular  into  literary  gold.  At 
the  club,  which  met  at  Leicester  House,  and  bore  the  classical 
title  of  *  The  Areopagus,'  the  members  were  dazzled  for  the 
time  by  this  perilous  theory.  They  committed  themselves  to 
the  heretical  belief  that  rhyme  and  accent,  the  natural  con- 
comitants of  English  verse,  were  vulgar  and  unrefined.  It 
was  incumbent  on  the  new  poets  if  they  would  attain  lasting 
glory  to  acclimatise  in  English  poetry  the  Latin  metre  of 
quantity,  which  the  genius  of  Virgil  and  Horace  had  ennobled. 

The  principle  which  underlay  this  endeavour  was  miscon- 
ceived, and  only  required  to  be  practically  applied  to  be  con- 
victed of  impotence.  Modern  literature  might  well  assimilate 
classical  ideas,  but  classical  prosody  or  syntax  had  no  juster 
place  in  a  modern  language  than  a  Greek  chiton  or  a  Roman 
toga  in  a  modern  wardrobe.  Sidney,  like  fellow-members  of 
the  Club,  experimented  in  English  sapphics  and  hexameters 
and  elegiacs,  but  the  uncouth  results  brought  home  classical 
to  genuine  lovers  of  poetry  that  the  movement  was  "metres. 
marching  in  a  wrong  direction.  When,  after  a  year's  trial, 
Sidney's  literary  club  was  dissolved,  English  poetry  was 
proving  beyond  risk  of  doubt,  that  accent  and  rhyme  were 
its  only  instruments  of  work,  and  that  the  classical  fashions 
of  prosody  or  syntax  were  barbarisms  outside  the  ancient 
languages  of  Rome  or  Greece.  Versatility  of  interest  was 
characteristic  of  Sidney  and  his  friends.  It  had  suddenly 
led  them  into  error,  but  it  led  them  out  again  with  almost 
equal  celerity. 

Hereditary   rank  combined  with  his   individual  tastes   and 
character  to  facilitate  Sidney's  assumption  of  a  leader's  place 


88  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

in  the  intellectual  society  of  London.  At  the  same  time  Sid- 
ney steadily  maintained  his  interest  in  the  literary  efforts  of 
Continental  Europe.  Insularity  was  foreign  to  the  literary 
spirit  of  the  Elizabethan  age.  Especially  did  Sidney  and 
his  associates  cherish  that  fraternal  feeling  which  binds  to- 
gether literary  workers  of  all  races  and  countries. 
Intercourse 

with  His   breadth  of  intellectual   sympathy  comes  into 

Bruno.  .  J     f        ^ 

peculiar  prominence  in  the  reports  of  the  recep- 
tion which  he  and  his  friends  accorded  to  the  Italian  phil- 
osopher^ Giordano  Bruno,  on  his  visit  to  London  in  1584. 
At  the  house  of  his  friend,  Fulke  Greville,  Sidney  and  Bruno 
often  met.  Together  they  discussed  moral,  metaphysical, 
mathematical  and  natural  scientific  speculations.  The  Italian 
poured  into  Sidney's  eager  ears  the  reason  for  Galileo's  new 
belief  that  the  earth  moves  round  the  sun.  No  teacher  could 
have  found  a  more  receptive  pupil.  Bruno  proved  his  regard 
for  Sidney's  sympathetic  attention  by  dedicating  to  him  two 
of  his  best  known  speculative  works,  and  thus  linked  his 
name  with  the  most  advanced  thought  of  the  Renaissance. 
Not  that  Sidney  meekly  accepted  Bruno's  opinions.  Sidney's 
faith  in  Christianity  was  not  easily  shaken.  With  Chris- 
tianity Bruno  had  small  concern.  His  philosophy  was  the 
philosophy  of  doubt.  Like  the  Utopians  of  Sir  Thomas 
More,  Bruno  was  a  vague  Pantheist,  to  whom  the  truths 
of  orthodox  Christianity  did  not  appeal.  A  fearless  thinker, 
he  was  ultimately  burnt  with  revolting  brutality  as  a  heretic 
at  Rome  in  1600.  Religious  toleration  came  naturally  to 
Sidney's  active  and  inquisitive  mind.  He  gave  Bruno's  re- 
ligious opinions  courteous  consideration.  They  deeply  inter- 
ested him.  But  he  did  not  adopt  them.  He  zealously 
cultivated  independence  of  mind  and,  as  if  to  prove  his 
equable  temper,  at  the  same  time  as  he  was  debating  the 
bases  of  religion  with  Bruno,  he  was  translating  a  perfectly 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  89 

orthodox  treatise  on  the  Christian  religion  by  a  distinguished 
French  Protestant  friend,  De  Mornay.  When  De  Mornay 
visited  London,  Sidney  was  no  less  profuse  in  hospitality  to 
him  than  to  Bruno.  Every  man  of  intellectual  tastes  at- 
tracted him,  but  he  was  steadfast  to  his  own  conviction,  and 
was  not  hastily  led  away  by  novel  speculation,  even  if  he 
were  fascinated  by  the  charm  of  exposition  which  hovered 
on  its  inventor's  lips. 


VIII 

To  another  form  of  literary  endeavour  Sidney's  attention 
was  diverted  somewhat  against  his  will.  English  Drama  was 
still  in  its  infancy.  Comedy  had  not  yet  emerged  Sidney  and 
from  the  shell  of  horseplay  and  burlesque  and  the  Drama, 
rusticity;  genuine  humour  or  genuine  romance  was  to  develop 
later.  Tragedy  was  still  a  bombastic  presentment  of  blood 
and  battle,  of  barbarous  and  sordid  crime.  But  the  embryonic 
Drama  was  encouraged  by  men  of  enlightenment,  and  by 
none  so  warmly  as  by  the  cultured  leaders  of  the  aristocracy. 
To  the  leisured  classes  any  new  form  of  recreation  is  wel- 
come, and  the  drama  could  adapt  itself  to  all  gradations  of 
literary  taste  among  its  patrons.  The  acting  profession  in 
England  was  first  organised  under  the  protection  of  the 
nobility.  Like  other  great  noblemen,  Sidney's  uncle  Leicester 
took  under  his  patronage  a  band  of  men  who  went  about 
the  country  engaged  in  rudimentary  dramatic  performances. 
The  company  of  actors  called  itself  the  Earl  of  Leicester's 
men  or  his  servants.  It  ultimately  developed  into  that  best 
of  all  organised  bands  of  Elizabethan  actors,  which  was 
glorified  by  Shakespeare's  membership.  Sidney  interested 
himself  in  the  company  of  players  which  was  under  the 
patronage  of  his  uncle.      He  stood  godfather  to  the  son  of 


90  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

one  of  its  leaders _,  a  very  famous  comic  actor,  Richard  Tarle- 
ton — one  of  the  earliest  English  actors  whose  name  has 
escaped  oblivion.  But  there  was  nothing  individual  in  Sid- 
ney's attitude  to  actors.  His  attitude  was  the  conventional 
one  of  his  class. 

Despite  the  favour  of  the  great,  the  prospects  of  the 
Drama  in  England  in  those  days  of  infancy  were  critical  and 
Puritan  uncertain.     It  was  a  new  development  in  England 

attacks.  ^^^  j^^^  jj|.|.jg  ^^|.  ^^.g  novelty  to  recommend  it.     Its 

artistic  future  was  unforeseen.  Its  earliest  manifestation, 
too,  excited  the  fears  and  animosity  of  the  growing  Puri- 
tan sentiment  of  the  country.  To  the  delight  in  Art  which 
the  Renaissance  encouraged,  the  Puritan  feeling,  when  once 
roused,  was  mortally  opposed.  Puritanism  was  in  fact  a 
reactionary  movement  against  the  delights  in  things  of  the 
sense  which  the  study  of  ancient  literature  fostered.  Puri- 
tanism was  impatient  of  the  current  culture.  It  viewed  all 
recreation  with  distrust,  and  detected  in  most  forms  of  amuse- 
ment signs  of  sin.  Especially  did  the  Drama,  the  most 
recent  outcome  of  the  Renaissance  of  paganism,  rouse  ugly 
suspicions  in  the  Puritan  minds.  Its  lawfulness  in  a  Chris- 
tian commonwealth  was  doubted.  Controversy  arose  as  to 
whether  or  no  the  Drama  was  an  emanation  of  the  devil: 
whether  or  no  the  theatre  was  to  be  tolerated  by  members 
of  Christ's   Church. 

The  Puritan  attack  was  bitter  and  persistent.     The  Puritan 

champions  sought  recruits  from  all  ranks  of  society  and  were 

anxious  to   divert   from  the  new-born  theatre  the 
Stephen 

Gosson  favour    of    the    nobility.      Their    fanaticism    lent 


Sidney's         them    strength.      Their    methods    were    none    too 

scrupulous.      Sidney  was  known  to  be  of  serious 

temper;  he  was  held  in  esteem  in  fashionable  society.     His 

countenance  was  worth  the  winning  for  any  cause.     Accord- 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  91 

ingly    one    of    the    most    outspoken    of    the    Puritan    contro- 
versialists—one of  the  warmest  foes  of  the  budding  Drama 
—endeavoured,  by   a   device   that   had   nothing   but  boldness 
to    excuse    it,    to    press    Sidney's    influence    into    his    service. 
Without    asking    Sidney's    leave,    Stephen    Gosson,    who    had 
once   been   himself    a   writer   of   plays   and   now   wrote   with 
the  fury  of  an  apostate,  dedicated  to  Sidney  a  virulent  invec- 
tive,  or   libel,   on   plays,   players,    and   dramatists,   which   he 
called  The  School  of  Abuse.     He  affected  to  take  for  granted 
Sidney's   sympathy.     To  him  he  dedicated  his   diatribe,   and 
paraded  his  name  in  the  preface  of  the  book  as  an  illiberal 
foe  of  dramatic  literature. 

The  misrepresentation  of  Sidney's  sentiment  was  unblush- 
ing.    Sidney's  soul  rebelled  against  the  obscurantist  views  to 
which  the  pamphleteer  committed  him.     One  might     ^.^^^^,^ 
have  as  justly  dedicated  to  Sir  Thomas   More  a    ^sent- 
Lutheran  tract  and  credited  him  with  enthusiasm 
for  the  doctrines  of  Luther.     No  truce  was  possible  between 
Sidney  and  one  who  failed  to  see  in  the  Drama  which  Greeks 
and  Romans  had  especially  dignified  an  honoured  branch  of 
literature.     Sidney  retaliated  with  spirit.     Turning  the  tables 
on  the  offending  author,  he   set  to  work  on  an   enlightened 
defence  of  the  Drama.     The  essay  which  he  called  an  Apolo- 
gie  for  Poetrie,  embodied  his  firmest  convictions  on  the  value 
to  life  of  literature  and  works  of  imagination. 

Sidney's  retort  to  Gosson  went  far  beyond  its  immediate 
purpose.     He  did  much  more  than  expound  the  worth  of  the 
Drama.      The   Drama  was   for  him  one  of  many     ^^^^ 
manifestations  of  poetry.     It  was  to  the  defence    fPop>gie^^ 
of  the  whole  poetic  art  that  he  bent  his  energies. 
In    an   opening   paragraph   he   calls    himself    a    Apiece   of   a 
logician,'  and  it  is  a  logical  mode  of  argument  that  he  pur- 
sues.    Nowhere  is  the  fine  quality  of  Sidney's  intellect  seen 


92  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

to  better  advantage.  Nowhere  else  does  he  illustrate  with 
equal  liberality  the  breadth  of  his  literary  sympathies  or 
his  instinct  for  scholarship.  He  had  studied  not  only  the 
critical  philosophy  of  Aristotle^  together  with  Plato's  general 
discussions  of  the  merits  and  defects  of  poetry,  but  had 
steeped  himself  in  the  elaborate  criticism  of  the  Renaissance 
scholars,  Minturno  and  Julius  Caesar  Scaliger,  who  had  in 
their  treatises,  named  respectively  '  De  Poeta  '  and  '  Poetice,' 
attempted,  in  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  to  codify 
anew  the  principles  and  practices  of  poetry. 

Despite  the  extent  and  variety  of  his  sources  of  learning, 

Sidney   retained   full   mastery   of   his   authorities,   and   welds 

them  together  with  convincing  effect.     The  catholicity  of  his 

literary   taste   preserved   him   from   pedantry.      A 

Freedom  J  t^  t^  J 

from  popular  ballad  sung  with  heartiness  roused  him  as 

pedantry. 

with  a  trumpet,  while  the  gorgeous   eloquence  of 

Pindar  could  do  no  more.  Sidney  wrote  with  lucidity.  His 
style  is  coloured  by  his  enthusiasm  for  all  that  elevates  the 
mind  of  man.  Nearly  two  centuries  and  a  half  later,  Shel- 
ley, in  emulation  of  Sidney,  wrote  another  Defence  of 
Poetry,  where  the  poet's  creed  was  again  defined  in  language 
of  singular  beauty.  No  higher  testimony  to  Sidney's  sug- 
gestive force  or  influence  can  be  offered  than  the  fact  that  his 
tract  should  have  engendered  in  Shelley's  brain  offspring  of 
so  rare  a  charm. 

Sidney's  central  proposition,  to  which  all  sections  of  the 
treatise  converge,  is  that  poetry  is  the  noblest  of  all  the 
The  worth  works  of  man.  Philosophy  and  history  are  for 
of  poetry.  ^.j^^  most  part  mere  handmaidens  of  poetry,  which 
is  the  supreme  teacher,  and  ranks  as  a  creative  agent  beside 
Nature  herself.  To  the  ordinary  matter-of-fact  intellect  of 
every  age  such  a  claim  on  behalf  of  poetry  is  barely  intelli- 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  QS 

gible.  That  poetry  is  a  *  deep  thing,  a  teaching  thing,  the 
most  surely  and  wisely  elevating  of  human  things,'  is  an 
assertion  that  sounds  whimsical  in  the  ears  of  the  multitude 
of  all  epochs.  It  represents  a  faith  whose  adherents  in  every 
era  have  been  few.  Sidney  gave  reasons  for  it  with  excep- 
tional sincerity  and  logical  force.  In  Elizabethan  England 
the  tendency  to  accept  the  belief  was  perhaps  more  widely 
disseminated  than  at  any  other  period  of  English  history. 
Certainly  Sidney's  words  seem  to  have  fallen  on  willing  ears, 
and  widened  the  ranks  of  the  faithful. 

In  details  Sidney's  Apologie  for  Poetrie  lies  open  to  criti- 
cism. He  underrated  the  value  of  poetic  expression  and 
poetic  form.  Poetry  embraced  for  him  every  ex-  Confusion 
ercise  of  the  imagination.  Matter  was  for  him  poetrTand 
more  valuable  than  manner.  *  Verse,'  he  wrote,  P^'ose. 
*  is  but  an  ornament,  and  no  cause  to  poetry ;  '  prose  might 
consequently  be  as  effective  a  vehicle  of  poetry  as  metrical 
composition.  Though  his  main  contention  that  poetry  is 
the  supreme  teacher  is  not  materially  affected  by  the  mis- 
conception, Sidney  here  falls  a  victim  to  a  confusion  of 
terms.  The  place  of  expression  in  poetry  is  overestimated 
when  it  is  argued  that  it  counts  alone.  But  expression  is  the 
main  factor.  The  functions  of  poetry  and  prose  lie,  too,  for 
the  most  part,  aloof  from  one  another.  Neither  theory  nor 
practice  justifies  a  statement  of  their  identity,  even  though 
on  occasion  they  may  traverse  the  same  ground.  Things  of 
the  mind  are  the  fittest  topic  of  prose  which  seeks  to  supply 
knowledge.  Things  of  the  emotions  are  the  fittest  topic  of 
poetry  which  seeks  to  stimulate  feeling.  Prose  is  under  no 
obligation  to  appeal  to  aught  beside  the  intellect;  poetry 
is  under  a  primary  obligation  to  appeal  to  the  emotions  and 
to  the  sense  of  sound. 


94  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

In  one  other  respect  Sidney  disappoints  us.     After  he  has 

enumerated  and  defined  with  real  insight  the  vari- 

Misiinder-  " 

standings        ous   known   classes  of  poetic   effort,   he  offers   an 

about  •  n      1 

English  estimate    of   the   past,    present,   and    future    posi- 

poe  ry.  ^.^^   ^^   English  poetry.      His   commendations   of 

Chaucer,  Surrey,  and  his  friend  Spenser,  satisfy  a  reasonable 
standard  of  criticism.  But  his  insight  fails  him  in  his  com- 
ments on  the  literary  prospects  of  the  English  Drama. 
Reverence  for  Aristotle's  laws,  as  they  were  developed  by 
the  classicists  of  the  Renaissance,  shackles  his  judgment. 
He  ridicules  the  failure  to  observe  the  primeval  unity  of 
action  or  the  later  classical  unities  of  place  and  time.  He 
warmly  denounces  endeavours  to  echo  in  a  single  play  the 
voices  of  comedy  and  tragedy.  Tragi-comedy  he  anathema- 
tises. An  obstinate  conservatism  mingled  with  his  liberal 
sympathies  and  led  him  at  times  to  confuse  progress  with 
anarchy.  Sidney  wrote  before  Elizabethan  effort  had  proved 
the  capacity  of  forms  of  dramatic  art  of  which  classical 
writers  had  not  dreamed. 

But  if  Sidney's  views  of  the  Drama  were  halting  and 
reactionary,  he  regained  his  clearness  of  vision  in  the  con- 
Enlightened  eluding  pages  of  his  great  Apologie.  His  final 
conclusions,  condemnation  of  strained  conceits  in  lyrical  poetry 
— although  a  fault  from  which  his  own  verse  is  not  always 
free — is  wise  and  enlightened.  He  perceived  that  the 
English  tongue  was,  if  efficiently  handled,  comparable  with 
Greek,  and  was  far  more  pliant  than  Latin,  in  the  power  of 
giving  harmonious  life  to  poetic  ideas.  If  he  underrated 
the  poetic  promise  of  his  age,  his  eloquent  appeal  to  his 
fellow-countrymen  at  the  end  of  his  Apologie,  to  disown  the 
*  earth-creeping  mind  '  that  *  cannot  lift  itself  up  to  look  into 
the  sky  of  poetry,'  proved  for  many  a  stirring  call  to  arms. 
He  took  leave   of  his   readers   like   a   herald   summoning  to 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  95 

the  poetic  lists  all  the  mighty  combatants  with  whom  the 
Elizabethan  era  was  yet  to  be  identified. 

IX 

But  Sidney  was  soon  summoned  from  these  altitudes. 
Controversies  in  public  and  Court  life  were  competing  with 
literary  debates  for  Sidney's  attention.  The  Queen's  favour 
was  always  difficult  to  keep.  Her  favourite^  Leicester,  Sid- 
ney's luicle,  forfeited  it  for  a  time  when  the  news  Difficulties 
reached  her  of  his  secret  marriage  with  that  ^*  Court. 
Countess  of  Essex  who  was  mother  of  Sidney's  Penelope, 
his  poetic  idol,  *  Stella.'  The  Queen's  wrath,  when  roused, 
always  expended  itself  over  a  wide  area,  and  it  now  involved 
all  Leicester's  family,  including  his  nephew. 

There  was  much  in  Court  life  to  alienate  Sidney's  genuine 
sympathies.  Many  of  his  fellow-courtiers  were  difficult  com- 
panions.    The  ill-mannered  Earl  of  Oxford  always  regarded 

Sidney  with  dislike  and  ridiculed  his  aspirations. 

Quarrels 
The  Earl's  wife  was  that  daughter  of  the  Prime    with 

courtiers. 
Minister   Burghley   whose   hand    in    girlhood   had 

been  at  first  offered  by  her  father  to  Sidney  himself. 
Childish  quarrels  between  Sidney  and  the  Earl  were  fre- 
quent. Once,  at  the  Queen's  palace  at  Whitehall,  while 
Sidney  was  playing  tennis,  the  Earl  insolently  insisted  on 
joining  uninvited  in  the  game.  Sidney  raised  objections. 
The  Earl  bade  all  the  players  leave  the  court.  Sidney  pro- 
tested. The  Earl  called  him  *  a  puppy.'  Sidney  retorted, 
truthfully  if  not  very  felicitously,  *  Puppies  are  got  by  dogs, 
and  children  by  men,'  and  then  with  greater  point  challenged 
the  unmannerly  nobleman  to  a  duel.  The  dispute  reached  the 
Queen's  ears.  She  forbade  the  encounter,  and  with  great 
injustice  ordered  Sidney  to  apologise  for  an  insult  which 
he  had  directed  at  a  man  of  higher  rank  than  himself.     Sid- 


96  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

ney  declined^  and  the  Queen's  wrath  against  him  increased. 
He  was  in  no  yielding  mood^  and  sought  no  reconciliation. 

In  the  Queen's  personal  and  political  conduct  there  was 
at  the  moment  much  to  offend  his  innermost  convictions.  He 
was  resolved  to  forfeit  altogether  his  position  at  Court 
rather  than  acquiesce  in  silence.  The  Queen  was  contem- 
plating marriage  with  the  King  of  France's  brother.  On 
grounds  of  patriotism  and  of  Protestantism  he  begged  her 
to  throw  over  a  Frenchman  and  a  Catholic.  There  was  no 
lack  of  plainness  or  of  boldness  in  this  address  to  his 
prince.  The  result  was  inevitable.  He  was  promptly 
excluded  from  the  royal  presence. 

Sidney's  intellectual  friends  had  long  regretted  the  waste 
of  his  abilities  which  idle  lounging  about  the  Court  entailed, 
jn  and  they  viewed  his  taste  of  the  royal  anger  with- 

retirement.  ^^^  dejection.  He,  too,  left  the  Court  with  a 
sense  of  relief.  Preferment  that  should  be  commensurate 
with  his  character  and  abilities  had  long  seemed  a  hopeless 
quest;  vanity  now  appeared  the  only  goal  of  a  courtier's 
life.  He  could  escape  from  it,  with  the  knowledge  that 
solace  for  his  disappointments  awaited  him  in  the  society 
of  a  beloved  comrade,  his  sister,  the  Countess  of  Pem- 
broke, whose  tastes  were  singularly  like  his  own.  At  her 
husband's  country  house  in  Wiltshire  he  was  always  a  wel- 
come guest,  and  there  could  cut  himself  off  with  a  light  heart 
from  the  mean  and  paltry  pursuit  of  the  royal  countenance. 
In  this  period  of  enforced  retirement  he  engaged  with  the 
Countess  in  literary  recreation  of  an  exacting  kind.  For  her 
and  his  own  amusement  he  wrote  a  romance.  He  called  it 
the  Countess  of  Pembroke's  Arcadia.  It  was  the  latest  and 
most  ambitious  of  all  his  literary  endeavours,  and  gave  him 
a  world-wide  repute. 

Sidney  affected  to  set  no  value  on  the  work,  which  exile 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  97 

from  the  central  scene  of  the  country's  activities  had  given 
him  the  opportunity  of  essaying.  He  undertook  it,  he  said, 
merely  to  fill  up  an  idle  hour  and  to  amuse  his  rp^e 
sister.  *  Now,  it  is  done  only  for  you,  only  to  ^''^^^• 
you :  '  he  modestly  told  her  *  if  you  keep  it  to  yourself,  or  to 
such  friends,  who  will  weigh  errors  in  the  balance  of  good- 
will, I  hope,  for  the  father's  sake,  it  will  be  pardoned,  per- 
chance made  much  of,  though  in  itself  it  have  deformities. 
For  indeed,  for  severer  eyes  it  is  not,  being  but  a  trifle,  and 
that  triflingly  handled.' 

The  work  is  far  more  serious  than  the  deprecatory  preface 
suggests.  Sidney's  pen  must  have  travelled  with  lightning 
speed.  Whatever  views  may  be  entertained  of  Foreign 
the  literary  merits  of  his  book,  it  amazes  one  by  "^o^^l^. 
its  varied  learning,  its  wealth  of  episode  and  its  exceptional 
length.  It  was  eulogised  in  its  own  day  by  Sidney's  friend, 
Gabriel  Harvey,  as  a  '  gallant  legendary,  full  of  pleasurable 
accidents  and  profitable  discourses;  for  three  things  especi- 
ally very  notably — for  amorous  courting  (he  was  young  in 
years),  for  sage  counselling  (he  was  ripe  in  judgment),  and 
for  valorous  fighting  (his  sovereign  profession  was  arms) — 
and  delightful  pastime  by  way  of  pastoral  exercises  may  pass 
for  the  fourth.'  ^  The  commendation  is  pitched  in  too  amiable 
a  key.  The  Arcadia  is  a  jumble  of  discordant  elements;  but, 
despite  its  manifold  defects,  it  proves  its  author  to  have 
caught  a  distant  glimpse  of  the  true  art  of  fiction. 

The  romance  was  acknowledged  on  its  production  to  be  a 
laborious  act  of  homage  to  a  long  series  of  foreign  literary 
influences.  In  his  description  of  character  and  often  in  his 
style  of  narration  he  was  thought  to  have  assimilated  the  tone 
of  the  Latin  historians  Livy,  Tacitus  and  the  rest,  and 
the  modern  chroniclers,   Philippe  de   Comines   and  Guicciar- 

1  Pierces  Supererogation,  etc. 
G 


98  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

dini.  The  Arcadia  is  a  compound  of  an  endless  number  of 
simples^  all  of  which  are  of  foreign  importation.  Sidney 
proves  in  it  more  than  in  his  sonnets  or  his  critical  tract  his 
loyalty  to  foreign  models  and  the  catholicity  of  taste  which 
he  brought  to  the  study  of  them. 

The  corner  stone  of  the  edifice  must  be  sought  in  a 
pastoral  romance  of  Italy.  A  Neapolitan^  Sanazzaro,  seems 
to  have  been  the  first  in  modern  Europe,  very  early  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  to  apply  the  geographical  Greek  name  of 
Arcadia  to  an  imaginary  realm  of  pastoral  simplicity,  where 
love  alone  held  sway.  Sanazzaro  was  only  in  part  a  creator. 
He  was  an  enthusiastic  disciple  of  Virgil,  and  he  had  read 
Theocritus.  His  leading  aim  was  to  develop  in  Italian  prose 
the  pastoral  temper  of  these  classical  poets.  But  he  brought 
to  his  work  the  new  humanism  of  the  Renaissance  and 
broadened  the  interests  and  outlook  of  pastoral  literature. 
His  Italian  Arcadia  set  an  example  which  was  eagerly  fol- 
lowed by  all  sons  of  the  Renaissance  of  whatever  nationality. 
In  Spain  one  George  de  Montemayor  developed  forty  years 
later  Sanazzaro's  pastoral  idealism  in  his  fiction  of  Diana 
Inamorada,  and  the  Spanish  story  gained  a  vogue  only  second 
to  its  Italian  original.  Sidney  was  proud  to  reckon  himself 
a  disciple  of  Montemayor  the  Spaniard,  as  well  as  of 
Sanazzaro  the  Neapolitan. 

But  it  was  not  exclusively  on  the  foundations  laid  by 
Italian  or  Spaniard  that  Sidney's  ample  romantic  fiction  was 
based.      Two    other    currents    merged    in    its    main    stream. 

Sidney  knew  much  of  late  Greek  literary  effort 
The  Greek  *^  /,    ,      ^i 

novel  of  which  produced,  in  the  third  century  of  the  Chris- 

tian era,  the  earliest  specimen  of  prose  fiction.  It 
was  the  Graeco-Syrian  Heliodorus,  in  his  *  Aethiopian 
Tales,'  who  first  wrote  a  prose  novel  of  amorous  intrigue. 
Heliodorus's   novels   became   popular  in  translation   in   every 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  99 

western  country,  and  Sidney  familiarised  himself  with  them. 
But  his  literary  horizon  was  not  bounded  either  by  the 
ancient  literature  of  Greece  or  by  the  contemporary  adapta- 
tions of  classical  literary  energy.  Feudalism  had  its  literary 
exponents.  Mediaeval  France  and  Spain  were  rich  in  tales 
of  chivalry  and  feudal  adventure.  The  tedious  narrative,  for 
example,  of  Amadis  of  Gaul,  which  was  mainly  responsible 
for  the  mental  perversion  of  Don  Quixote,  fired  the  Middle 
Ages  with  a  genuine  enthusiasm.  That  enthusiasm  com- 
municated itself  to  Sidney. 

To   each   of  these  sources — the   pastoral   romances   of  the 
Renaissance  of  Italy   and   Spain,  the  Greek  novel,   and  the 
mediaeval   tales    of   chivalry — Sidney's   Arcadia   is    ^^^ 
almost  equally  indebted.     But  his  idiosyncrasy  was    ^^^g^^^^^ 
not  wholly  submerged.     Possibly  Sidney  originally    with  ^^ 

thouffht   to    depict   with    philosophic    calm    in   his     and 

.       ^  n        n     1       1       n       intrigue, 
retirement  from  the  Court  the  life  of  shepherds 

and  shepherdesses,  and  thereby  illustrate  the  contrast 
between  the  simplicity  of  nature  and  the  complex  ambitions 
of  princes  and  princesses.  But  the  theme  rang  hollow  to  one 
who  had  studied  closely  life  and  literature,  who  sought  above 
all  things  to  be  sincere.  To  credit  rusticity  which  he  knew 
to  be  coarse,  ignorant,  and  sensual,  with  unalloyed  inno- 
cence was  little  short  of  fraud.  To  confine  himself  solely  to 
pastoral  incident,  however  realistically  treated,  was  to  court 
tameness.  On  his  pastoral  ground-plan,  therefore,  he  grafted 
chivalric  warfare  of  a  mediaeval  pattern,  and  intrigue  in  the 
late  Greek  spirit. 

Chivalric  adventure  is  treated  by  Sidney  for  the  most  part 
with  directness  and  intelligibility.  At  the  outset  of  his 
Arcadia,  two  princely  friends,  Musidorus  of  Macedon  and 
Pyrocles  of  Thessaly,  who  enjoy  equal  renown  for  military 
prowess,  are  separated  in  a  shipwreck,  and  find  asylum  in 


100  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

different   lands.      Each    is    entertained   by    the    king   of   the 

country  which  harbours  him,  and  is   set  at  the  head  of  an 

army.     The  two  forces  meet  in  battle.     Neither  commander 

recognises   in   the   other   his    old   friend,   until   they   meet   to 

decide  the  final  issues  of  the  strife  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat. 

Peace  follows  the  generals'  recognition  of  one  another.     The 

two  friends  are  free  to  embark  together  on  a  fantastic  quest 

of  love  in  Arcadia.      Each   seeks   the  hand  of  an  Arcadian 

princess,  and  they  willingly  involve  themselves  in  the  domestic 

and   dynastic    struggles    which    distract    the    Arcadian    court 

and  country. 

Sidney  developed  the  design  with  bold  incoherence.     The 

exigences  of  love  compel  his  heroes  to   disguise  themselves. 

Musidorus,    the    lover    of   the    Arcadian    Princess 
The 
complex  Pamela,  assumes  the  part  of  a  shepherd,  calling 

himself  Dorus;  while  Pyrocles,  the  lover  of  the 
Arcadian  Princess  Philoclea,  in  defiance  of  convention, 
metamorphoses  himself  into  a  woman;  he  arrays  himself  as 
an  Amazon,  and  takes  the  feminine  name  of  Zelmane.  Out 
of  this  strange  disguise  is  evolved  a  thread  of  story  which 
winds  itself  intricately  through  nearly  the  whole  of  the 
romance.  The  Amazonian  hero  spreads  unexpected  havoc  in 
the  Arcadian  court  by  attracting  the  affections  of  both  the 
Princess's  parents — of  Basilius,  the  old  king  of  Arcady,  who 
believes  him  to  be  a  woman;  and  of  Synesia,  the  lascivious 
old  queen,  who  perceives  his  true  sex.  The  involutions  and 
digressions  of  the  plot  are  too  numerous  to  permit  full 
description.  The  extravagances  grow  more  perplexing  as  the 
story  develops. 

Arcadian  realms  exhibit  in  Sidney's  pages  few  traditional 
features.  The  call  of  realism  was  in  Sidney's  ears  the  call 
of  honesty,  and  his  peasants  divested  themselves  of  ideal  fea- 
tures for  the  ugly  contours  of  fact.     His  shepherds  and  shep- 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  101 

herdesses  have  long  passed  the  age  of  innocent  tranquillity. 
Their  land  is  a  prey  to  dragons  and  wild  beasts,  and  their 
hearts  are  gnawed  by  human  passions.  Sidney  had,  too,  a 
sense  of  the  need  of  variety  in  fiction.  New  characters  are 
constantly  entering  to  distort  and  postpone  the  natural 
denouement  of  events.  The  work  is  merged  in  a  succession 
of  detached  episodes  and  ceases  to  be  an  organic  tale.  Parts 
are  much  more  valuable  than  the  whole.  Arguments 
of  coarseness  and  refinement  enjoy  a  bewildering  contiguity. 
At  one  moment  Platonic  idealism  sways  the  scene,  and  the 
spiritual  significance  of  love  and  beauty  overshadows  their 
physical  and  material  aspects.  At  the  next  moment  we 
plunge  into  a  turbid  flood  of  abnormal  passion.  The  exalted 
thought  and  aspiration  of  the  Renaissance  season  Sidney's 
pages,  but  they  do  not  exclude  the  grosser  features  of  the 
movement.  There  are  chapters  which  almost  justify  Mil- 
ton's sour  censure  of  the  whole  book  as  *  a  vain  and  amato- 
rious  poem.'  ^ 


*  The  text  of  the  Arcadia  suffers  from  the  author's  casual  methods  of  com- 
position. Much  of  it  survives  in  an  unrevised  shape.  He  seems  to  have 
himself  prepared  for  press  the  first  two  books,  and  the  opening  section  of  the 
third — about  a  half  of  the  whole.  This  portion  of  the  romance  was  printed 
in  1590,  and  ended  abruptly  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence.  Subsequently 
there  was  discovered  a  very  rough  draft  of  portions  of  a  long  continuation, 
forming  the  conclusion  of  the  third  book,  with  the  succeeding  fourth  and 
fifth  books.  This  supplement  survived  in  '  several  loose  sheets  (being  never 
after  reviewed  or  so  much  as  seen  altogether  by  himself)  without  any  certain 
disposition  or  perfect  order.'  With  a  second  edition  of  the  authentic  text 
these  vmrevised  sheets  were  printed  in  1593.  Sidney's  sister,  the  Countess 
of  Pembroke,  supplied  the  recovered  books  with  'the  best  coherences  that 
could  be  gathered  out  of  those  scattered  papers,'  but  no  attempt  was  made 
to  fill  an  obvious  hiatus  in  the  middle  of  the  third  book  at  the  point  where 
the  original  edition  ended  and  the  rough  draft  opened.  Nor  did  the  editor 
or  publisher  venture  to  bring  the  unfinished  romance  to  any  conclusion. 
What  close  was  designed  for  the  story  by  the  author  was  '  only  known  to  his 
own  spirit.*  The  editors  of  later  editions,  bolder  than  their  predecessors, 
sought  to  remedy  such  defects.  The  gap  in  the  third  book  was  in  1621  filled 
by  a  '  little  essay '  from  the  pen  of  a  well-known  Scottish  poet,  Sir  William 


102  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

The  Arcadia  is  a  prose  tale  and  Milton  only  applied  to  it 
the  title  of  poem  figuratively.     But  one  important  characteris- 
tic of  the  Arcadia  is  its  frequent  introduction  of 
The  verse. 

interludes   of  verse   which^   although   they   appeal 

more  directly  to  the  historian  of  literature  than  to  its  aesthetic 
critic,  must  be  closely  examined  by  students  of  Sidney's 
work.  Shepherds  come  upon  the  stage  and  sing  songs  for 
the  delectation  of  the  Arcadian  King,  and  actors  in  the  story 
at  times  express  their  emotions  lyrically.  Occasionally 
Sidney's  verse  in  the  Arcadia  seeks  to  adapt  to  the  English 
language  classical  metres,  after  the  rules  that  the  club  of 
*  Areopagus  '  sought  to  impose  on  his  pen.  The  sapphics  and 
hexameters  of  the  Arcadia  are  no  less  strained  and  grotesque 
than  are  earlier  efforts  in  the  like  direction.  They  afford 
convincing  proof  of  the  hopeless  pedantry  of  the  lAterary 
principles  to  which  Sidney  for  a  time  did  homage,  but  which 
he  afterwards  recanted.  Sidney's  metrical  dexterity  is  seen 
to  advantage,  however,  in  his  endeavours  to  acclimatise  con- 
temporary forms  of  foreign  verse.  In  his  imitation  of  the 
sestina  and  terza  rima  of  contemporary  Italy  he  shows  felicity 
and  freedom  of  expression.  He  escapes  from  that  servile 
adherence  to  rules  of  prosody  which  is  ruinous  to  poetic 
invention.  Sidney's  affinity  with  the  spirit  of  Italian  poetry 
is  seen  to  be  greater  than  his  aflinity  with  the  spirit  of 
classical  poetry. 

No  quite  unqualified  commendation  can  be  bestowed  on  the 

Alexander,  Earl  of  Stirling.  Finally,  in  1628  a  more  adventurous  spirit, 
Richard  Beling,  or  Bellings,  a  young  barrister  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  endeavoured 
to  terminate  the  story  in  a  wholly  original  sixth  book.  It  is  with  these  addi- 
tions that  subsequent  re-issues  of  the  Arcadia  were  invariably  embellished. 
Other  efforts  were  made  to  supplement  Sidney's  unfinished  romance.  One 
by  Gervase  Markham,  an  industrious  literary  hack,  came  out  as  early  as  1607. 
Another,  by  'a  young  gentlewoman,'  Mrs.  A.  Weames,  was  published  in 
1651.  The  neglect  of  these  fragmentary  contributions  by  publishers  of  the 
full  work,  calls  for  no  regret. 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  103 

prose  style  of  his   romance.      It  lacks  the   directness  which 
distinguishes  the  Apologie  for  Poetrie.     It  fails  to  give  much 
support  to   Drayton's   contention  that   Sidney   rid     The  prose 
the   English  tongue   of  conceits   and   affectations.     s*y^^- 
Sidney  rid  the  English  tongue  of  conceits  and  affectations. 
His   metaphors   are  often   far-fetched,   and  he  overloads  his 
page  with  weak  and  conventional  epithets.    The  vice  of  dif- 
fuseness  infects  both  matter  and  manner.    But  delightful  oases 
of  perspicuous  narrative  and  description  of  persons  and  places 
are  to  be  found,  although  the  search  may  involve  some  labour. 
The   unchecked   luxuriance   of   Sidney's    pen,   and   absence 
of   well-wrought   plan   did   injustice   to   the    genuine   insight 
into  life  and  the  descriptive  power  which  belonged    ^ant  of 
to  him.     Signs,  however,  are  discernible  amid  all     co^i^rence. 
the  tangle  that,  with  the  exercise  of  due  restraint,  he  might 
have  attained  mastery  of  fiction  alike  in  style  and  subject- 
matter. 


It  was  difficult  for  Sidney,  whatever  the  attractions  that 
the  life  of   contemplation   and   literary   labour   had   to   offer 

him,  complacently  to  surrender  Court  favour,  and    ^ 

^  Rcconcili- 

with  it  political  office,  altogether.     He  knew  the    ation  with 

the  Queen, 
meaning  of  money  difficulties;  tailors  and  boot- 
makers often  pressed  him  for  payment.  They  were  not 
easy  to  appease.  The  notion  of  seeking  a  livelihood  from  his 
pen  was  foreign  to  all  his  conceptions  of  life.  From  the 
Queen  and  her  Ministers  he  could  alone  hope  for  remunera- 
tive employment.  He  therefore  deemed  it  prudent  to  seek 
a  reconciliation.  Quarrels  with  Queen  Elizabeth  were  rarely 
incurable.  A  solemn  undertaking  to  abstain  from  further 
political  argument  which  involved  the  Queen,  opened  to 
Sidney  an  easy  road  to  peace. 


104.  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

His  uncle  Leicester  interested  himself  anew  in  his  fortunes, 
and  transferred  to  him  a  small  administrative  office  which  he 
Official  himself  had  held,  that  of  Steward  to  the  Bishop 

promotion,  ^f  Winchester.  He  succeeded  his  father,  too,  as 
Member  of  Parliament  for  Kent.  In  Parliament  he  joined 
with  eagerness  in  the  deliberations  of  a  Committee  which 
recommended  strenuous  measures  against  Catholics  and 
slanderers  of  the  Queen.  But  in  the  House  of  Commons  he 
made  little  mark.  The  slow  methods  of  the  assembly's  proce- 
dure, and  its  absorption  in  details  which  lacked  large 
significance,  oppressed  Sidney's  spirit.  He  was  ill-adapted 
to  an  arena  where  success  came  more  readily  to  tact- 
ful reticence  and  apathy  than  to  exuberant  eloquence  and 
enthusiasm. 

In  1583  he  was  knighted,  and  assumed  his  world-famous 
designation  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  But  it  is  one  of  history's 
Knight-  little   ironies    that    it   was    not    for   any   personal 

^°°^-  merit  that  he  received  the  title  of  honour.     Eng- 

lish people  like  titles,  although  it  be  the  exception,  and  not 
the  rule,  for  them  to  reward  notable  personal  merit.  In  Sir 
Philip's  case  it  happened  that  a  friend  whom  he  had  met 
abroad.  Prince  John  Casimir,  brother  of  the  Elector  Palatine, 
had  been  nominated  by  Queen  Elizabeth  to  the  dignity  of  a 
Knight  of  the  Garter.  Unable  to  attend  the  investiture  him- 
self the  prince  had  requested  his  friend  Sidney  to  act  as  his 
proxy.  Such  a  position  could  only  be  filled  by  one  who  was 
himself  of  the  standing  of  a  knight-bachelor,  the  lowest  of 
all  the  orders  of  knighthood.  Consequently  in  compliment 
to  the  foreign  prince,  the  Queen  conferred  knighthood  on  the 
prince's  representative.  It  was  a  happy  accident  by  which 
Sidney  was  enrolled  among  English  knights.  It  was  not 
designed    as    a    recognition    of    his    worth;    it    conferred    no 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  105 

special  honour  on  him;  but  it  renewed  the  dignity  of  an 
ancient  order  of  chivalry,  and  it  lends  a  picturesque  colour 
to  the  closing  scene  of  his  career. 

For   a   year    Sidney's   course   of   life   ran    somewhat   more 
smoothly.      Once  again  he   sought  scope   for  political   ambi- 
tions.    He  obtained  more  remunerative  official  em-    joint- 
ployment.     He  was  offered  a  post  in  the  military     ^y^  ^^  ° 
administration  of  the  country.     He  was  appointed     Ordnance. 
Joint-Master  of  the  Ordnance  with  another  uncle,  the  Earl 
of  Warwick,   Leicester's   elder  brother. 

The  need  of  a  regular  income  was  the  more  pressing  be- 
cause Sidney  was  about  to  enter  the  married  state.     His  old 

friend,  the  Queen's   Secretary,   Sir   Francis  Wal- 

Marriage. 
singham  who,  when  English  ambassador,  was  his 

host  at  Paris  in  the  year  of  the  St.  Bartholomew's  Massacre, 
chose  him  for  his  son-in-law,  for  the  husband  of  his  daughter 
Frances,  a  girl  of  only  fourteen.  Sidney  was  twenty-nine 
years  old,  more  than  twice  her  age,  and  there  seems  good  rea- 
son to  regard  the  union  as  a  marriage  de  convenance.  The 
astute  Secretary  of  State,  who  had  always  cherished  an  affec- 
tionate interest  in  Sidney,  thought  that  the  young  man  might 
yet  fill  with  credit  high  political  office,  and  his  kinship  with 
Leicester  gave  him  hope  of  a  rich  inheritance.  The  arrange- 
ment was  not,  however,  concluded  without  difficulty.  Sidney's 
father  declared  that  '  his  present  biting  necessity  '  rendered 
monetary  aid  from  him  out  of  the  question.  Leicester  was 
not  immediately  helpful,  and  other  obstacles  to  the  early 
solemnisation  of  the  nuptial  ceremony  presented  themselves. 
The  Queen  was  never  ready  to  assent  quickly  to  her  courtiers* 
marriages.  For  two  months  she  withheld  her  assent.  Then 
she  suddenly  yielded,  and  showed  no  trace  of  resentment. 
The  marriage  took  place  in  the  autumn  of  1583.     It  was  the 


106  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

first  scene  of  the  last  act  in  Sidney's  life.     He  had  barely 

three  years  to  live. 

Sidney  took  up  his  residence  with  his  wife's  parents  near 

London,  at  Barn  Elms.     His  course  of  life  underwent  little 

other  change.     His  literary  relations  with  his  old 
Relations 
with  Lady      friend  Penelope  Devereux,  who  two  years  before 

had  become  the  wife  of  Lord  Rich,  were  not  in- 
terrupted. He  continued  to  write  sonnets  to  her,  and  their 
loyal  friendship  remained  the  admiration  of  fashionable 
society.  None  the  less  Sidney  stirred  in  his  girl-wife  a 
genuine  affection,  and  nothing  in  his  association  with  Lady 
Rich  seems  to  have  prejudiced  her  happiness. 

Sidney's  married  life,  after  its  first  transports  were  over, 
increased  rather  than  diminished  his  dissatisfaction  with  his 
prospects  at  home.  A  complete  change  of  scene  and  of 
effort  crossed  his  mind.  He  thought  of  trying  his  fortune 
in  a  new  field  of  energy.     The  passion  for  exploration,  for 

founding  English  colonies  in  the  newly  discovered 
The  call  of  »          &  J 

the  New  Continent    of    America,   which   had    mastered   the 

World.  .  n  -.111 

minds  of  so  many  contemporaries,  suddenly  ab- 
sorbed him.  His  active  intellect  was  drawn  within  the  whirl- 
pool of  that  new  enthusiasm.  At  first  he  merely  took  a  few 
shares  in  an  expedition  in  search  of  the  North- West  Passage, 
but  his  hopes  ran  high  as  he  scanned  the  details  of  the 
project.  He  believed  that  gold,  and  all  that  gold  might 
bring,  was  to  be  found  in  abundance  in  the  hazy  continent 
of  the  north.  But  to  take  a  vicarious  part  in  adventure  ill 
sorted  with  his  nature.  He  resolved  to  join  in  person  Sir 
Humphrey  Gilbert,  who  was  about  to  set  forth  on  that 
eventful  expedition  to  Newfoundland  from  which  he  never 
returned.  Sidney  was  finally  induced  to  stay  behind.  He 
was  thus  preserved  from  the  fate  of  Gilbert  who  was 
wrecked  on  the  voyage  home. 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  107 

But  Sidney's  imagination  dwelt  on  the  possibilities  which 
control  of  a  new  and  untrodden  world  implied.  Designs  of 
dazzling  scope  vaguely  shaped  themselves  in  his  Grant  to 
brain:  he  would  gain  control  of  the  greater  part  Amerrcan 
of  the  new  continent  and  make  of  it  a  purified  ^^'^^s- 
Arcadia  such  as  fiction  could  hardly  comprehend.  Accord- 
ingly, he  sought  and  obtained  letters  patent  to  hold  for  him- 
self and  colonise  at  will  the  unknown  world.  No  less  than 
three  million  acres  of  undiscovered  land  in  America  were 
soon  set  at  his  disposal.  The  document  announcing  the  grant 
is  well  fitted  to  be  enrolled  in  the  courts  of  Faerie.  Sir  Philip 
was  *  licensed  and  authorised  to  discover,  search,  find  out, 
view,  and  inhabit  certain  parts  of  America  not  yet  discovered, 
and  out  of  those  countries,  by  him,  his  heirs,  factors,  or 
assigns  to  have  and  enjoy,  to  him  his  heirs  and  assigns  for 
ever,  such  and  so  much  quantity  of  ground  as  should  amount 
to  the  number  of  thirty  hundred  thousand  acres  of  groimd 
and  wood,  with  all  commodities,  jurisdiction,  and  royalties, 
both  by  sea  and  land,  with  full  power  and  authority  that  it 
should  and  might  be  lawful  for  the  said  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
his  heirs  and  assigns,  at  all  times  thereafter  to  have,  take,  and 
lead  in  the  said  voyage,  to  travel  thitherwards  or  to  inhabit 
there  with  him  or  them,  and  every  or  any  of  them,  such  and 
so  many  of  her  Majesty's  subjects  as  should  willingly  accom- 
pany him  or  them,  or  any  or  every  of  them,  with  sufficient 
shipping   and   munition   for   their   transportations.' 

History  seemed  obeying  the  laws  that  govern  fiction.  Sid- 
ney was  building,  on  a  basis  of  legal  technicalities,  a  castle 
in  the  air.  The  scheme  suffered  the  fate  of  all  speculations 
in  unverified  conditions.  Little  followed  the  generous  grant. 
But  Sidney  steadily  fixed  his  eyes  for  the  time  on  the  Atlantic 
horizon.  He  was  greatly  moved  by  Sir  Walter  Ralegh's  plans 
for  the  exploration  of  the  land  that  Ralegh  named  *  Virginia.' 


108  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

Sidney  sat  on  a  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  which 
was  appointed  to  adjust  the  shadowy  boundaries  of  the  first 
projected  settlement  of  Englishmen  in  that  country.  The 
committee's  deliberations  had  no  practical  effect.  Sidney  was 
destined  to  come  to  no  closer  quarters  with  the  fanciful 
property,  of  which  the  law,  working  for  once  in  strange 
agreement  with  the  vagaries  of  the  imagination,  had  made 
him  master. 

XI 

The  short  remainder  of  Sidney's  life  was  passed  in  new 
surroundings.  It  was  on  the  field  of  battle  that  he  closed 
The  last  ^^^  brief  pilgrimage  on  earth.  Hostility  to  Cath- 
scene.  ^^^^    Spain    had    combined    with    his    imaginative 

energy  greatly  to  stimulate  his  interest  in  the  American 
schemes.  Advancing  life  and  closer  study  of  current  politics 
Hostility  Strengthened  the  conviction  that  Spain,  unless 
to  Spain.  jjgj.  career  were  checked,  was  England's  fated 
conqueror  in  every  sphere.  The  cause  alike  of  Protestantism, 
of  enlightenment,  and  of  trade  was  menaced  by  Spanish  pre- 
dominance. A  general  attack  on  the  Empire  of  Spain  was 
essential  to  England's  security.  With  characteristic  impetu- 
osity he  turned  from  his  American  speculations  and  surveyed 
the  Spanish  peril.  He  was  tiring  of  the  contemplative  life. 
He  was  bent  on  trying  his  fortune  in  an  enterprise  of  action. 
An  opportunity  for  active  conflict  with  Spain  seemed  to  be 
forced  on  England's  conscience  which  could  hardly  suffer 
neglect.  Spain  was  making  a  determined  effort  to  drive 
Protestantism  from  the  stronghold  that  it  had  acquired  in  the 
Low  Countries.  Sidney's  old  admirer,  William  of  Orange, 
had,  in  1584,  been  murdered  there  at  Spanish  instigation,  a 
martyr  to  the  cause  of  Protestant  freedom.  It  was  England's 
duty,  Sidney  now  argued,  vigorously  to  avenge  that  outrage. 
The  more  direct  the  onslaught  on  Spain  the  better.     Spain 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  109 

should  be  attacked  in  all  her  citadels;  the  Low  Countries 
should  be  over-run;  raids  should  be  made  on  Spanish  ports; 
her  rich  trade  with  South  America  should  be  persistently 
intercepted  and  ultimately  crushed. 

Such  a  design,  as  soon  as  his  mind  had  formulated  it, 
absorbed  all  Sidney's  being.  But  it  met  with  faint  encour- 
agement in  the  quarter  whence  authority  to  carry  it  into 
execution   could   alone   come.      The   Queen   was    averse   to   a 

direct  challenge  of  Spain.     She  was  not  fond  of 

^  ^  Theatti- 

spending  money.     She  deprecated  the  cost  of  open    tude  of 

war.     But  Sidney  and  his  friends  were  resolute. 

They  would  not  let  the  question  sleep.     The  nation  ranged 

itself  on  their  side.     At  length,  yielding  to  popular  clamour, 

the  Queen  agreed,  under  conditions  which  indemnified  her  for 

loss  of  money,  to  send  strictly  limited  help  to  the  Protestant 

States   of   the   Low   Country.      She   would  assist  them   in   a 

qualified  way  to  repel  the  assault  of  Spain.     She  would  lend 

them  money  and  would  send  an  army,  the  cost  of  which  they 

were  to  defray.     With  a  policy  so  meagre  in  conception  and 

so  poor  in  spirit  Sidney  had  small  sympathy.     But  it  was  all 

that  it  was  possible  to  hope  for,  and  with  it  he  had  to  rest 

content.     At  any  rate,  wherever  and  however  the  blow  was 

to  be  struck  against  Spain,  he  was  resolved  to  lend  a  hand. 

That  resolve  cost  him  his  life. 

The  command  of  the  English  force  for  the  Low  Countries 

was   bestowed   on   Sidney's   uncle   Leicester;   and  the   Queen 

reluctantly   yielded   to    persuasion    and   conferred  Governor 

on   Sidney   a   subordinate   post  in   the   expedition,  of  Pushing. 

He  was   appointed  Governor  of  Flushing,  one  of  the  cities 

which  the  Queen  occupied  by  way  of  security  for  the  expense 

which  she  was  incurring.     In  the  middle  of  November,  1585, 

Sidney  left  Gravesend  to  take  up  his  command.     It  was  to 

be  his  first  and  last  experience  of  battle. 


no  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

The   campaign   was    from   the   outset   a   doubtful   success. 

The  Queen  refused  to  provide  adequate  supplies.     Leicester 

proved  an  indolent  commander.  Harmonious  co- 
Difficulties  1       T  T-w        1       IT 

of  the  operation  with  their  Dutch  allies  was  not  easy  for 

the  English.  Sidney  soon  perceived  how  desper- 
ate the  situation  was.  He  wrote  hastily  to  his  father-in-law 
Walsingham,  who  shared  in  a  guarded  way  his  political 
enthusiasm,  urging  him  to  impress  the  Queen  with  the 
need  of  a  larger  equipment.  He  had  not  the  tact  to  improve 
the  situation  by  any  counsel  or  action  of  his  own  on  the  spot. 
He  persuaded  his  uncle  to  make  him  Colonel  of  a  native 
Dutch  regiment  of  horse,  an  appointment  which  deeply 
offended  a  rival  Dutch  candidate.  The  Queen,  to  Sidney's 
chagrin,  judged  the  rival's  grievance  to  be  just.  Sidney 
showed  infinite  daring  when  opportunity  offered,  but  good 
judgment  was  wanting.  There  was  wisdom  in  his  uncle's 
warning  against  his  facing  risks  in  active  service.  Direction 
was  given  him  to  keep  to  his  post  in  Flushing. 

At  length  Leicester,  yielding  to  the  entreaties  of  his  col- 
leagues and  his  nephew,  decided  to  abandon  Fabian  tactics 
The  attack  ^^^  ^^  come  to  close  quarters  with  the  enemy. 
onZutphen  'j'j^g  great  fortress  of  Zutphen,  which  was  in  Span- 
ish hands,  was  to  be  attacked.  As  soon  as  the  news  reached 
Sidney,  he  joined  Leicester's  army  of  assault  as  a  knight- 
errant;  his  own  regiment  was  far  away  at  Deventer.  He  pre- 
sented himself  in   Leicester's  camp  upon  his   own   initiative. 

On  the  21st  September,  1586,  the  English  army  learned 
that  a  troop  of  Spaniards,  convoying  provisions  to  Zutphen, 
The  fatal  ^^^  *^  reach  the  town  at  daybreak  next  morning, 
woiind.  Five  hundred  horsemen  of  the  English  army  were 

ordered  to  intercept  the  approaching  force.  Without  waiting 
for  orders,  Sidney  determined  to  join  in  the  encounter.  He 
left  his   tent  very   early   in   the   morning   of  the   22nd,   and 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  111 

meeting  a  friend  who  had  omitted  to  put  on  leg-armour,  he 
rashly  disdained  the  advantage  of  better  equipment,  and 
quixotically  lightened  his  own  protective  garb.  Fog  hung 
about  the  country.  The  little  English  force  soon  found 
itself  by  mistake  under  the  walls  of  the  town,  and  threatened 
alike  in  front  and  at  the  rear.  A  force  of  three  thousand 
Spanish  horsemen  almost  encircled  them.  They  were  between 
two  fires — between  the  Spanish  army  within  the  town  and  the 
Spanish  army  which  was  seeking  to  enter  it.  The  English- 
men twice  charged  the  reinforcements  approaching  Zutphen, 
but  were  forced  to  retreat  under  the  town  walls.  At  the 
second  charge  Sidney's  horse  was  killed  under  him.  Re- 
mounting another,  he  foolhardily  thrust  his  way  through  the 
enemy's  ranks.  Then,  perceiving  his  isolation,  he  turned  back 
to  rejoin  his  friends,  and  was  struck  as  he  retreated  by  a 
bullet  on  the  left  thigh  a  little  above  the  knee.  He  managed 
to  keep  his  saddle  until  he  reached  the  camp,  a  mile  and  a 
half  distant.  What  followed  is  one  of  the  classical  anecdotes 
of  history,  and  was  thus  put  on  record  by  Sidney's  friend 
Greville: — '  Being  thirsty  with  excess  of  bleeding,  he  called 
for  drink,  which  was  presently  brought  him;  but  as  he  was 
putting  the  bottle  to  his  mouth,  he  saw  a  poor  soldier  carried 
along,  who  had  eaten  his  last  at  the  same  feast,  ghastly 
casting  up  his  eyes  at  the  bottle,  which  Sir  Philip  perceiving, 
took  it  from  his  head  before  he  drank,  and  delivered  it  to 
the  poor  man,  with  these  words,  "  Thy  necessity  is  greater 
than  mine."  And  when  he  had  pledged  this  poor  soldier  he 
was  presently  carried  (by  barge)  to  Arnheim.' 

Sidney's    wife    hurried    from    England    to    his    bedside    at 
Arnheim,  and  after  twenty-six  days'  suffering  he  died.     In 
his  last  hours  he   asked  that  the  Arcadia,  which    Sidney's 
had  hitherto  only  circulated  in  manuscript,  might    ^i^^*^- 
be  burnt,  but  found  in  literary  study  and  composition  solace 


112  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

in  his  final  sufferings.  The  States  General — the  Dutch  Gov- 
ernment— begged  the  honour  of  according  the  hero  burial 
within  their  own  dominions,  but  the  request  was  refused,  and 
some  months  later  he  was  buried  in  great  state  in  that  old  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral — the  church  of  the  nation — which  was  burnt 
down  in  the  great  fire  of  1666. 

Rarely  has  a  man  been  more  sympathetically  mourned. 
Months  afterwards  Londoners  refused  to  wear  gay  apparel. 
National  '^^^  Queen,  though  she  shrewdly  complained  that 
mourning.  Sidney  invited  death  by  his  rashness,  was  over- 
whelmed with  grief.  Students  of  both  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge Universities  published  ample  collections  of  elegies  in 
honour  of  one  who  served  with  equal  zeal  Mars  and  Apollo. 
Fully  two  hundred  poems  were  written  in  his  memory  at  the 
time.  Of  these  by  far  the  finest  is  Spenser's  pathetic  lament 
*  Astrophel,  a  Pastoral  Elegy,'  where  the  personal  fascination 
of  his   character   receives   especially  touching   recognition: — 

'He  grew  up  fast  in  goodness  and  in  grace, 
And  doubly  fair  wox  both  in  mind  and  face, 
Which  daily  more  and  more  he  did  augment, 
With  gentle  usage  and  demeanour  mild: 
That  all  men's  hearts  with  secret  ravishment 
He  stole  away,  and  weetingly  beguiled. 
Ne  spite  itself,  that  all  good  things  doth  spill. 
Found  aught  in  him,  that  she  could  say  was  ill.' 

'Astrophel,'  i.  17. 

XII 

Sidney's  career  was,  to  employ  his  own  words,  *  meetly 
furnished  of  beautiful  parts.'  It  displayed  '  many  things 
Sidney's  tasting  of  a  noble  birth  and  worthy  of  a  noble 
career.  mind.'  Yet  his  achievements,  whether  in  life  or 
literature,  barely  justify  the  passionate  eulogy  which  they 
won  from  contemporaries.  In  none  of  his  endeavours  did  he 
win  a  supreme  triumph.     His  friend,  Gabriel  Harvey,  after 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  113 

eulogising  his  ripe  judgment  in  many  callings,  somewhat 
conventionally  declared  that  *  his  sovereign  profession  was 
arms.'  There  is  small  ground  for  the  statement.  Sidney's 
fame  owes  more  to  the  fascination  of  his  chivalric  personality 
and  quick  intelligence,  and  to  the  pathos  of  his  early  death, 
than  to  his  greatness  in  any  profession,  whether  in  war  or 
politics  or  poetry. 

In  practical  life  his  purpose  was  transparently  honest. 
He  showed  a  boy-like  impatience  of  the  temporising  habit  of 
contemporary  statesmanship,  but  there  was  a  lack  of  balance 
in  his  constitution  which  gave  small  assurance  of  ability  to 
control  men  or  to  mould  the  course  of  events.  The  catas- 
trophe at  Zutphen  tempts  one  to  exclaim: 

"Twas  not  a  life, 
*Twas  but  a  piece  of  childhood  thrown  away.' 

To  literature  he  exhibited  an  eager  and  an  ardent  devo- 
tion.     The  true   spirit  of  poetry  touched  his  being,  but  he 

rarely    abandoned   himself    to    its    finest    frenzies. 

^  His 

It  was  on  experiments   in   forms  of  literary  art,    literary 

which   foreign   masters    had   taught   him,   that   he 

expended  most  of  his  energy.     Only  in  detached  lyrics,  which 

may  be   attributed   to   his   latest   years,   did  he   free  himself 

from  the  restraints  of  study  and  authority.     Only  once  and 

again  as  in  his  great  dirge  beginning: 

*  Ring  out  your  bells !    Let  mourning  shows  be  spread, 
For  love  is  dead,* 

did  he  wing  his  flight  fearlessly  in  the  purest  air  of  the 
poetic  firmament.  Elsewhere  his  learning  tends  to  obscure 
his  innate  faculty.  Despite  his  poetic  enthusiasm  and  pas- 
sionate idealism,  there  is  scarcely  a  sonnet  in  the  famous 
sequence  inscribed  by  Astrophel  to  SteUa  which  does  not 
illustrate  an  '  alacrity  in  sinking.' 

H 


114  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

But  no  demerits  were  recognised  in  Sidney  by  his  contem- 
poraries. He  was,  in  the  obsolete  terminology  of  his  admir- 
ing friend,  Gabriel  Harvey,  '  the  secretary  of  eloquence, 
the  breath  of  the  Muses,  the  honey  bee  of  the  daintiest  flowers 
of  wit  and  art,  the  pith  of  moral  and  intellectual  virtues,  the 
arm  of  Bellona  in  the  field,  the  tongue  of  Suada  in  the 
chamber,  the  spirit  of  practice  in  esse,  and  the  paragon  of 
excellency  in  print.'  ^  His  literary  work,  no  less  than  his 
life,  magnetised  the  age.  His  example  fired  scores  of  Eliza- 
bethans to  pen  long  sequences   of  sonnets  in  that  idealistic 

tone  of  his,  which  itself  reflected  the  temper  of 
Influence 

of  the  Petrarch  and  Ronsard.     His  massive  romance  of 

Arcadia.  m         t  ^    i 

Arcadia   appealed   to   contemporary   taste   despite 

its  confusions,  and  was  quickly  parent  of  a  long  line  of 
efforts  in  fiction  which  exaggerated  its  defects.  Elizabethan 
dramatists  attempted  to  adapt  episodes  of  Sidney's  fiction 
to  the  stage.  Shakespeare  himself  based  on  Sidney's  tale  of 
*  an  unkind  king '  the  incident  of  Gloucester  and  his  sons 
in  King  Lear.  It  was  not  only  at  home  that  his  writings  won 
the  honour  of  imitation.  The  fame  of  the  Arcadia  spread  to 
foreign  countries.  Seventeenth-century  France  welcomed  it 
in  translations  as  warmly  as  the  original  was  welcomed  in 
England. 

It  was  indeed  by  very  slow  degrees  that  the  Arcadia  was 
dethroned  either  at  home  or  abroad.  In  the  eighteenth 
century  it  had  its  votaries  still.  Richardson  borrowed  the 
name  of  Pamela  from  one  of  Sidney's  princesses.  Cowper 
hailed  with  delight  *  those  Arcadian  scenes '  sung  by  *  a 
warbler  of  poetic  prose.*  But  the  revolt  against  the  pre- 
dominance of  Sidney's  romance  could  not  then  be  long 
delayed.  English  fiction  of  ordered  insight  was  coming  into 
being.     The  Arcadia,  which  defied  so  much  of  the  reality  of 

» Pierces  Supererogation,  etc. 


SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY  115 

life  could  not  breathe  the  true  atmosphere^  and  it  was  rela- 
gated  to  obscurity.  Historically  it  remains  a  monument  of 
deep  interest  to  literary  students,  but  its  chief  attraction  is 
now  that  of  a  curious  effigy;  the  breath  of  life  has  fled 
from  it. 

Yet,  despite  the  ephemeral  character  of  the  major  part  of 
Sidney's   labours,   the  final  impression   that   his   brief   career 
left   on   the   imagination   of   his    countrymen    was    The  final 
lasting.     He  still  lives  in  the  national  memory  as    o^Efe""" 
the  Marcellus — ^the  earliest  Marcellus  of  English     and  work, 
literature.     After  two  centuries  the  poet  Shelley  gave  voice  to 
a  faith,  almost  imiversal  among  Englishmen,  that  his  varied 
deeds,  his  gentle  nature,  and  his  early  death  had  robed  him  in 
*  dazzling  immortality.'     In  Shelley's  ethereal  fancy — 

'Sidney,  as  he  fought 
And  as  he  fell,  and  as  he  lived  and  loved. 
Sublimely  mild,  a  spirit  without  spot,' 

was  among  the  first  of  the  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown  to 
welcome  to  their  thrones  in  the  empyrean  the  youngest  of 
the  princes  of  poetry,  John  Keats. 


IV 

SIR   WALTER   RALEGH 

'O  what  a  noble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown! 
The  courtier's,  soldier's,  scholar's  eye,  tongue,  sword, 
The  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state     .... 
The  observed  of  all  observers,  quite,  quite  down!' 

Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  Act  iii.,  So.  i.,  159-162. 

[Bibliography. — By  far  the  best  biography  of  Ralegh  is  Sir 
Walter  Kalegh;  a  biography  by  Mr.  WilUam  Stebbing,  Oxford 
1891.  His  letters  may  be  studied  in  the  second  of  the  two 
volumes  of  the  'Life,'  by  Edward  Edwards,  1868.  The  chief 
collection  of  his  works  in  prose  and  verse  was  published  at 
Oxford  in  eight  volumes  in  1829.  The  best  edition  of  his 
poetry  is  *  The  Poems  of  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  and  other  courtly 
poets,  collected  and  authenticated,  by  John  Hannah,  D.C.L. 
(Aldine  Edition),  London,  1885.'  The  most  characteristic  of 
his  shorter  prose  writings,  his  Discovery  of  Guiana,  is  pub- 
lished in  Cassells'  National  Library  (No.  67).] 


The  primary  cause  of  colonial  expansion  lies  in  the  natural 
ambition  of  the  healthy  human  intellect  to  extend  its  range 
Primarv  ^^  vision  and  knowledge.  Curiosity,  the  inquisi- 
^^l^nial  ^^^^  desire  to   come   to  close  quarters   with  what 

expansion.  jg  ^^^  ^f  sight,  primarily  accounts  for  the  passion 
for  travel  and  for  exploration  whence  colonial  movements 
spring.  Intellectual  activity  is  the  primary  cause  of  the 
colonising  instinct. 

But  the  colonising,  the  exploring  spirit,  when  once  it  has 

come  into  being,  is  invariably  stimulated  and  kept 
Three 

secondary  alive  by  at  least  three  secondary  causes,  which  are 
causes.  i  />  i  t         -i 

sometimes    mistaken    for   the   primary.      In   them 

good   and  bad   are   much  tangled.      *  The  web  of   our   life,* 
116 


Sir  Walter  Ralegh 
at  the  age  of  34 

Frovi  the  portrait  attributed  to  Federigo  Ziiccaro  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  117 

says  Shakespeare,  'is  of  a  mingled  yarn,  good  and  ill  to- 
gether.' Of  a  very  mingled  yarn  is  the  web  of  which  colonial 
effort  is  woven. 

The  intellectual  desire  to  know  more  about  the  world  than 
is  possible  to  one  who  is  content  to  pass  his  life  in  his  native 
district  or  land  is  commonly  stimulated,  in  the  Qreedof 
first  place,  by  the  hope  of  improving  one's  mate-  S^^°- 
rial  condition,  by  the  expectation  of  making  more  money  than 
were  likely  otherwise.  Evil  lurks  in  this  expectation;  it  easily 
degenerates   into   greed   of   gain,   into  the   passion   for   gold. 

The  desire  for  foreign  exploration,  too,  is  invigorated  by 
impatience  of  that  restraint  which  law  or  custom  imposes  on 
an  old  country,  by  the  hope  of  greater  liberty  Passion  for 
and  personal  independence.  This  hope  may  tempt  ^^erty. 
to  moral  ruin;  it  may  issue  in  the  practice  of  licentious  law- 
lessness. 

Then  there  emerges  a  third  motive — the  love  of  mastery, 
the  love  of  exercising  authority  over  peoples  of  inferior  civ- 
ilisation or  physical  development.  The  love  of  mastery  is 
capable  alike  of  benefiting  and  of  injuring  hu-  Love  of 
manity.  If  it  be  exercised  prudently,  it  may  ^^a^tery. 
serve  to  bring  races,  which  would  otherwise  be  excluded, 
within  the  pale  of  a  higher  civilisation;  but  if  it  be  exercised 
imprudently,  it  sinks  to  tyranny  and  cruelty. 

The  passion  for  mastery,  the  passion  for  gold,  and  the 
passion  for  freedom,  have  all  stimulated  colonising  energy 
with  mingled  results.  When  the  three  passions  are  restrained 
by  the  moral  sense,  colonising  energy  works  for  the  world's 
advantage;  the  good  preponderates.  Wherever  the  moral 
sense  proves  too  weak  to  control  the  three  perilous  passions, 
colonising  energy  connotes  much  moral  and  physical  evil. 


118  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN. 


II 


Great  colonising  effort,  which  has  its  primary  source  in 
intellectual  curiosity,  is  an  invariable  characteristic  of  eras 
like    the    era    of   the    Renaissance,    when    man's    intellect    is 

working,  whether  for  good  or  ill,  with  exceptional 
Great 

colonising  energy.  The  Greeks  and  Romans  were  great  col- 
epochs. 

onisers    at  the   most   enlightened   epochs   of   their 

history.  In  modern  Europe  voyages  of  discovery  were  made 
by  sailors  of  the  Italian  Republics,  of  the  Spanish  peninsula, 
and  of  France,  when  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  was 
winging  amongst  them  its  highest  flight. 

At  first  the  maritime  explorers  of  Southern  Europe  con- 
fined their  efforts  to  the  coast  of  Africa,  especially  to  the 
The  west   coast.      Then   they   passed   to   the   East — to 

Hem?-™  India,  at  first  by  way  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  after- 

sphere,  wards  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  through 

the  Indian  Ocean.  Nothing  yet  was  known  of  the  Western 
Hemisphere.  It  was  a  sanguine  hope  of  reaching  India  by 
a  new  and  direct  route  through  western  seas  that  led  to  the 
great  discovery  of  the  Continent  of  America. 

Columbus,  its  discoverer,  was  a  native  of  the  Italian  Re- 
public of  Genoa,  a  city  distinguished  by  the  feverish  energy 
with  which  its  inhabitants  welcomed  new  ideas  that  were 
likely  to  increase  men's  material  prosperity.  It  was  in 
August    1492 — when    sailing    under    the    patronage    of    the 

^  ,      ,  greatest  sovereiarns  that  filled  the  throne  of  Spain, 

Columbus's     c'  o 

discovery,  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  on  what  he  believed 
1492. 

would  prove  a  new  route  to  the  Indies — that  Co- 
lumbus struck  land  in  what  he  called,  and  in  what  we  still 
call,  the  West  Indies.     He  made  two  voyages  to  the  West 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  119 

Indies  before  he  passed  further  west  and  touched  the  main- 
land, which  turned  out  to  be  South  America. 

England,   under   the   intellectual   stimulus   of   the    Renais- 
sance, was  not  behind  Spain  in  the  exploration  of  the  West- 
ern   Seas.      Colonial   expansion   loomed    on    Eng-    England 
land's  horizon  when  the  English  Renaissance  was    n^*^*^^^ 
coming  to  birth  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  cen-    World, 
tury.      Like   Spain,   England   owed   its   first   glimpse   of  the 
New  World  to  the  courage  of  an  Italian  sailor. 

At  the  time  that  Columbus  sighted  South  America,  John 
Cabot,  also  a  native  of  energetic  Genoa,  had  been  long  settled 
at  Bristol  in  England,  and  was  now  a  pilot  of  that  port.  No 
sooner  had  Columbus  sighted  South  America  than  Cabot 
sighted  North  America.  Columbus  and  Cabot  flourished  at 
the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century — in  Sir  Thomas  More's  youth. 
The  work  which  they  inaugurated  was  steadily  carried  for- 
ward throughout  the  sixteenth  century,  and  its  progress  was 
watched  with  a  restless  ecstasy. 

The   division    of   labour   in    exploring   the    new   continent, 

which    was    faintly    indicated    by    the    two    directions    which 

Cabot  and   Columbus   took  respectively  to   North 

^  "^  North  and 

and   South,   was  broadly  adopted   in  the   century    South 

that  followed  by  sailors  starting  respectively  from 
English  and  Spanish  ports.  Spaniards  continued  to  push 
forward  their  explorations  in  South  America,  or  in  the 
extreme  south  of  the  northern  continent.  Englishmen  by  no 
means  left  South  America  undisturbed,  but  they  won  their 
greatest  victories  for  the  future  in  the  northern  division  of  the 
new  continent.  Spain  and  England  were  throughout  the  six- 
teenth century  strenuous  rivals  as  colonisers  of  the  Western 
Hemisphere.  In  the  end,  South  America  became  for  the 
most  part  a  Spanish  settlement;  North  America  became  for 
the  most  part  an  English   settlement. 


120  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

The  knowledge  that  a  New  World  was  opening  to  the  Old, 
proved  from  the  first  a  sharper  spur  to  the  imagination  in 
England  than  in  any  country  of  Europe.  It  contributed 
there,  more  notably  than  elsewhere,  to  the  formation  among 
enlightened  men  of  a  new  ideal  of  life;  it  gave  birth  to  the 

notion  that  humanity  had  it  in  its  power  to  begin 
America  ° 

and  new  at  will  existence  afresh,  could  free  itself  in  due 

ideals. 

season  from  the  imperfections  of  the  Old  World. 

Within  very  few  years  of  the  discovery  of  America,  Sir 
Thomas  More  described,  as  we  have  seen,  that  ideal  state 
which  he  located  in  the  new  hemisphere,  that  ideal  state  upon 
which  he  bestowed  the  new  name  of  *  Utopia.'  Sir  Thomas 
More's  romance  of  Utopia  is  not  merely  a  literary  master- 
piece; it  is  also  a  convincing  testimony  to  the  stirring  effects 
on  English  genius  of  the  discovery  of  an  unknown,  an 
untrodden  world. 

But  the  discovery  of  America  brought  of  necessity  in  its 
train  to   England,  no  less  than  to   other  countries,  the  less 
elevated  sentiments  which  always  dog  the  advances  of  explo- 
ration.    The  spirit  of  English  exploration  was  not  for  long 
.  uncoloured  by  greed  of  gain.    Licence  and  oppres- 

JVl  £1X61*1 8il" 

istic  sion  darkened  its  development.     But  the  vague  im- 

influences.  .  n    i 

mensity  of  the  opportunities  opened  by  the  sudden 

expansion  of  the  earthly  planet  filled  Englishmen  with  a  'wild 

surmise  '  which,  if  it  could  not  kill,  could  check  the  growth 

of  active  evil.     England's  colonial  aspirations  of  the  sixteenth 

century  never  wholly  lost  their  first  savour  of  idealism. 

In  Elizabethan  England  a  touch  of  philosophy  tinged  the 

spirit  of   adventure  through   all   ranks   of  the  nation.      Men 

^,        .  were   ambitious,   Shakespeare  tells   us,   to  see  the 

Thespmt  '  ^  ' 

of  wonders  of  the  world  abroad  in  order  to  enlarge 

adventure.  mi  i         i     i      i  /. 

their  mental  horizons.      They  lavished   their   for- 
tunes and  their  energies  in  discovering  islands  far  away,  in 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  121 

the  interests  of  truth.  The  intellectual  stir  which  moved  his 
being  impelled  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  the  finest  type  of  the 
many-sided  culture  of  the  day,  to  organise  colonial  explora- 
tion, although  he  died  too  young  to  engage  in  it  actively. 
The  unrest  which  drove  men  to  cross  the  ocean  and  seek 
settlement  in  territory  that  no  European  foot  had  trodden 
was  identified  with  resplendent  virtue.  Such  was  the  burden 
of  Drayton's  ode  '  To  the  Virginian  Voyage  *  : — 

'  You  brave  heroic  minds, 
Worthy  your  country's  name, 
That  honour  still  pursue. 
Whilst  loitering  hinds 
Lurk  here  at  home  with  shame, 
Go,  and  subdue. 

Britons,  you  stay  too  long; 
Quickly  aboard  bestow  you. 
And  with  a  merry  gale 
Swell  your  stretched  sail. 
With  vows  as  strong 
As  the  winds  that  blow  you.' 

Englishmen  of  mettle  were  expected  to  seek  at  all  hazards 
earth's  paradise  in  America.  Not  only  was  the  New  World 
credited  with  unprecedented  fertility,  but  the  laws  of  nature 
were  believed  to  keep  alive  there  a  golden  age  in  perpetuity. 

These    fine    aspirations    were    never    wholly    extinguished, 

although  there  lurked  behind  them  the  hope  that  an  age  of 

gold   in    a   more   material    and   literal   sense   than 

Imaginary 
philosophers  conceived  it  might  ultimately  reward    age  of 

the  adventurers.     The  Elizabethans  were  worldly- 
minded  enough  to  judge  idealism  alone  an  unsafe  foundation 
on  which  to  rear  a  colonial  empire.     '  For  I  am  not  so  simple,' 
said    an    early    advocate    of    colonial    enterprise    who    fully 
recognised    in    idealism    a    practical    safeguard    against    its 


122  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

degradation^  *  I  am  not  so  simple  to  think  that  any  other 
motive  than  wealth  will  ever  erect  in  the  New  World  a 
commonwealth,  or  draw  a  company  from  their  ease  and 
humour  at  home  to  settle  [in  colonial  plantations].' 

The  popular  play  called  Eastward  Ho!  published  early  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  revived  at  the  close  of  the  epoch 
of  the  English  Renaissance  all  the  prevailing  incitements 
to  colonial  expansion.  The  language  is  curiously  reminiscent 
of  a  passage  in  Sir  Thomas  More's  Utopia,  and  illustrates 
the  permanence  of  the  hold  that  idealism  in  the  sphere  of 
colonial  experiment  maintained  in  the  face  of  all  challenges 
over  the  mind  of  sixteenth-century  Englishmen. 

In  the  play  an  ironical  estimate  was  given  of  the  wealth 
that  was  expected  to  lie  at  the  disposal  of  all-comers  to  the 
New  World.  Infinite  treasure  was  stated  to  lie  at  the  feet 
of  any  one  who  cared  to  come  and  pick  it  up.  Gold  was 
alleged  by  the  dramatist  to  be  more  plentiful  in  America 
than  copper  in  Europe;  the  natives  used  household  utensils 
of  pure  gold;  the  chains  which  hung  on  the  posts  in  the 
streets  were  of  massive  gold;  prisoners  were  fettered  in  gold; 
and  *  for  rubies  and  diamonds,'  declares  the  satiric  play- 
wright, '  the  Americans  go  forth  on  holidays  and  gather  them 
by  the  seashore,  to  hang  on  their  children's  coats,  and  stick 
in  their  caps,  as  commonly  as  our  children  in  England  wear 
saffron  gilt  brooches  and  groats  with  holes  in  them.' 

At  the  same  time  the  dramatist  recognised  that  the  passion 
for  moral  perfection  remained  an  efficient  factor  in  colonis- 
Moral  ^"g  enterprise.     He  claimed  for  the  new  country 

ideals.  ^1^^^   public    morality   had   reached    there   a   pitch 

never  known  in  England.  No  office  was  procurable  except 
through  merit;  corruption  in  high  places  was  unheard  of. 
The  New  World  offered  infinite  scope  for  the  realisation  of. 
perfection  in  human  affairs. 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  123 


III 


The  mingled  motive  of  sixteenth-century  colonial  enter- 
prise is  best  capable  of  realisation  in  the  career  of  a  typical 
Elizabethan — Sir  Walter  Ralegh.  The  character  Ralegh  a 
and  achievements  of  Ralegh,  alike  in  their  defects  E"l^abeihan 
and  merits,  sound  more  forcibly  than  those  of  any  versatility. 
other  the  whole  gamut  of  Renaissance  feeling  and  aspiration 
in  Elizabethan  England.  His  versatile  exploits  in  action 
and  in  contemplation — in  life  and  literature — are  a  micro- 
cosm of  the  virtues  and  the  vices  which  the  Renaissance  bred 
in  the  Elizabethan  mind  and  heart. 

Ralegh  as  a  boy  was  an  enthusiast  for  the  sea.  He  was  a 
native  of  Devonshire,  whence  many  sailors  have  come.  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  the  greatest  of  Elizabethan  mari-  sir  Francis 
time  explorers,  was  also  a  Devonshire  man.  It  ^^  ^' 
was  he  who  first  reached  the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  and,  first 
of  Englishmen  to  look  on  the  Pacific  Sea  beyond,  besought 
Almighty  God  of  His  kindness  to  give  him  life  and  leave  to 
sail  an  English  ship  once  in  that  sea.  That  hope  he  realised 
six  years  later  when  he  crossed  the  Pacific,  touched  at  Java, 
and  came  home  by  way  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  Drake's 
circumnavigation  of  the  globe  was  the  mightiest  exploit  of 
any  English  explorer  of  the  Elizabethan  era. 

Only    second   to    Drake    as    a    maritime   explorer    was    Sir 
Humphrey  Gilbert,  also  a  Devonshire  man,  who  in   1583  in 
the  name  of  Queen  Elizabeth  took  possession  of 
Newfoundland,   the   oldest   British   colony.      This    half-^ 
Sir   Humphrey   Gilbert  was   Ralegh's   elder  half-    |[^«*^^^' 
brother,  for  they  were  sons  of  the  same  mother,    q^^^J^^^^ 
who  married  twice.     Her  first  husband,  Sir  Hum- 
phrey's father,  was  Otho  Gilbert,  who  lived  near  Dartmouth. 
Her  second  husband,  who  was  Ralegh's  father,  was  a  country 


124  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

gentleman  living  near  Budleigh  Salterton,  where  Ralegh  was 

born  about  1552^  some  two  years  before  Sir   Philip   Sidney. 

Gilbert  was  Ralegh's  senior  by  thirteen  years,  and  like  him 

Ralegh  obtained  his  first  knowledge  of  the  sea  on  the  beach 

of  his  native  place.     The  broad  Devonshire  accent. 
Infancy 

and  in  which  he  always  spoke,  he  probably  learnt  from 

Education.  ^  .  tt.     .       n 

Devonshire  sailors.     His  intellect  was  from  youth 

exceptionally  alert.  Vigorous  as  was  always  his  love  of 
outdoor  life,  it  never  absorbed  him.  With  it  there  went  a 
passion  for  books,  an  admirable  combination,  the  worth  of 
which  was  never  better  illustrated  than  in  the  life  and  letters 
of  the  Renaissance. 

After  spending  a  little  time  at  Oxford,  and  also  studying 
law  in  London — study  that  did  not  serve  him  in  life  very 
profitably — Ralegh  followed  the  fashion  among  young  Eliza- 
bethans and  went  abroad  to  enjoy  experience  of  military 
service. 

IV 

Englishmen  were  then  of  a  more  aggressive  temper  than 
they  think  themselves  to  be  now.  The  new  Protestant  re- 
The rivalry  ^^S^^^)  which  rejected  the  ancient  domination  of 
with  Spain.  ^^^  Papacy,  had  created  a  militant  spiritual  energy 
in  the  country.  That  spiritual  energy,  combining  with  the 
new  physical  and  intellectual  activity  bred  of  the  general 
awakening  of  the  Renaissance,  made  it  almost  a  point  of  con- 
science for  a  young  Elizabethan  Protestant  in  vigorous  health 
to  measure  swords  with  the  rival  Catholic  power  of  Spain. 
As  Sir  Philip  Sidney  realised,  Spain  and  England  had 
divided  interests  at  every  point.  Spain  had  been  first  in  the 
field  in  the  exploration  of  the  New  World,  and  was  resolved 
to  spend  its  energy  in  maintaining  exclusive  mastery  of  its 
new   dominion.      Spain   was   the    foremost   champion   of   the 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  125 

reHgious  ideals  of  Rome.  Pacific  persuasion  and  argument 
were  not  among  the  proselytising  weapons  in  her  religious 
armoury.  She  was  bent  on  crushing  Protestantism  by  force 
of  arms.  She  lent  her  aid  to  the  French  Government  to 
destroy  the  Protestant  movement  in  France  which  the  Hugue- 
nots had  organised  there.  She  embarked  on  a  spainand 
long  and  costly  struggle  in  her  own  territory  of  ^^^^^'^  ' 
the  Low  Countries  in  Holland  to  suppress  the  Dutch  cham- 
pions of  the  Reformed  religion,  whose  zeal  for  active  resist- 
ance was  scarcely  ever  equalled  by  a  Protestant  people. 

Naturally  Ralegh  at  an  early  age  sought  an  opportunity 
of  engaging  in  the  fray.  He  found  his  earliest  military 
experiences  in  fighting  in  the  ranks  of  the  Hugue-  Ralegh  in 
nots  in  France.  Then  he  crossed  the  French  ter-  ^^ance. 
ritory  on  the  North  to  offer  his  sword  to  the  Dutch  Protest- 
ants, who  were  struggling  to  free  themselves  from  Spanish 
tyranny  and  Spanish  superstition  in  the  Low  Countries. 

But  it  was  in  the  New  World  that  Spain  was  making  the 
most  imposing  advance.     Spanish  pretensions  in  Europe  could 
only  be  effectually  checked  if  the  tide  of  Spanish    ^.^  ^^^ 
colonisation    of   the    New   World    were    promptly    ^^^g*^^ 
stemmed.     Ralegh  was  filled  to  overflowing  with 
the  national  jealousy  of  Spain,  and  with  contempt  for  what 
he    deemed   her    religious    obscurantism.      His    curiosity    was 
stirred  by   rumours   of   the   wonders   across   the   seas,   where 
Spain  claimed  sole  dominion.     Consequently  his  eager   gaze 
was  soon  fixed  on  the  New  Continent. 

At  twenty-six,  after  gaining  experience  of  both  peace  and 
war  in  Europe,  he  joined  his  half-brother.  Sir  Humphrey 
Gilbert,  in  a  first  expedition  at  sea,  on  a  voyage  of  discovery. 
He  went  as  far  as  the  West  Indies.  With  the  Spaniards 
who  had  already  settled  there  inevitable  blows  were  ex- 
changed.     But   Ralegh's   first  conflict   with   the   arch   enemy 


126  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

was  a  drawn  battle.     He  was  merely  prospecting  the  ground, 

and  the  venture  bore  no  immediate  fruit. 

During    a    succeeding    season    he    exhausted    some    of    his 

superabundant  energy  in  a  conflict  nearer  home.     In  Ireland, 

England  was   engaged   in  her   unendina:   struggle 
In  Ireland.  .  ,       ,  o  oo 

With  the  native  population.      On   Ralegh's   return 

from  the  West  Indies  he  enlisted,  with  a  view  to  filling  an 
idle  hour,  in  the  Irish  wars.  The  situation  was  not  exhilar- 
ating, and  his  mind  was  too  busy  with  larger  projects  to  lead 
him  to  grapple  with  it  seriously.  Ireland  appeared  to  him 
to  be  '  a  lost  land,'  *  a  common  woe,  rather  than  a  common- 
wealth.' But  its  regeneration  seemed  no  work  for  his  own 
hand.  He  gained,  however,  a  great  material  advantage  from 
his  casual  intervention  in  the  affairs  of  the  country.  There 
was  granted  to  him  a  great  tract  of  confiscated  land  in  the 
South  of  Ireland,  some  forty  thousand  acres  in  what  are 
now  the  counties  Waterford  and  Cork.  The  princely  estate 
stretched  for  many  miles  inland  from  the  coast  at  Youghal 
along  the  picturesque  banks  on  both  sides  of  the  river  Black- 
water  in  Munster. 

The  soil  was  for  the  most  part  wild  land  overgrown  with 
long  grass  and  brambles,  but  Ralegh  acquired  with  the 
demesne  a  famous  house  and  garden  near  Youghal  which  was 
known  as  Myrtle  Grove,  and  he  afterwards  built  a  larger 
mansion  at  Lismore.  There  he  spent  much  leisure  later,  and 
both  houses  are  of  high  biographic  interest.  It  was,  however, 
not  the  puzzling  problems  of  Irish  politics  which  occupied 
Ralegh's  attention,  while  he  dwelt  on  Irish  soil.  He  formed 
no  opinions  of  his  own  on  Irish  questions.  He  accepted  the 
conventional  English  view.  For  the  native  population  he 
cherished  the  English  planters'  customary  scorn.  He  did  not 
hesitate  to  recommend  their  removal  by  means  of  *  practices,' 
which    were    indistinguishable    from    plots    of    assassination. 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  127 

But  politics  were  not  the  interests  which  he  cultivated  in 
the  distracted  country.  He  devoted  his  energies  there  to  the 
pacific  pursuits  of  poetry  and  of  gardening,  and  to  social 
intercourse  with  congenial  visitors. 


The  passion  for  colonisation,  for  colonisation  of  territory 
further  afield  than  Munster,  was  the  dominant  influence  on 
Ralegh's  mind.  It  was  his  half-brother  Gilbert's  discovery 
of  Newfoundland,  and  the  grant  to  Gilbert  of  permission  to 
take,  in  the  Queen's  name,  possession  of  an  almost  infinite 
area  of  unknown  land  on  the  North  American  Continent, 
that  led  to  the  episode  which  gave  Ralegh  his  chief  claim 
to  renown  in  the  history  of  the  English  Colonies.  Gilbert's 
Gilbert's  ship  was  wrecked;  he  was  drowned  on  death,  1583. 
returning  from  Newfoundland,  and  the  Queen  was  there- 
upon induced  to  transfer  to  Ralegh  most  of  the  privileges 
she  had  granted  to  his  half-brother.  The  opportunity  was 
one  of  dazzling  promise.  Ralegh  at  once  fitted  out  an 
expedition  to  undertake  the  exploration  which  Gilbert's  death 
had  interrupted. 

But  Ralegh  had  meanwhile  become  a  favourite  of  the 
Queen.^  He  had  exerted  on  her  all  his  charm  of  manner 
and   of   speech.      He   had   practised   to   the    full   those    arts 

>  The  well-known  story  that  Ralegh  first  won  the  Queen's  favour  by  plac- 
ing his  cloak  over  a  muddy  pool  in  her  path  is  not  traceable  to  any  earlier 
writer  than  Fuller,  who  in  his  Worthies,  first  published  in  1662,  wrote: 
'Captain  Ralegh  coming  out  of  Ireland  to  the  English  court  in  good  habit 
(his  clothes  being  then  a  considerable  part  of  his  estate)  found  the  queen 
walking,  till  meeting  with  a  plashy  place,  she  seemed  to  scruple  going 
thereon.  Presently  Ralegh  cast  and  spread  his  new  plush  cloak  on  the 
ground;  whereon  the  queen  trod  gently,  rewarding  him  afterwards  with 
many  suits,  for  his  so  free  and  seasonable  tender  of  so  fair  a  foot  cloth. 
Thus  an  advantageous  admission  into  the  first  notice  of  a  prince  is  more  than 
half  a  degree  to  preferment.'  This  incident  was  carefully  elaborated  by  Sir 
"Walter  Scott  in  his  novel  Kenilworth,  chap.  xv. 


128  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

familiar  to  all  the  courts  of  the  Renaissance  which  gave  a 

courtier's  adulation  of  his   prince  the  tone   of  amorous   pas- 
sion.     In   the  absence  of  *  his   Love's   Queen  '   or 

Ralegh  and 

Queen  of  '  the  Goddess  of  his  life  '  Ralegh  declared  him- 

Elizabeth.  i  r         •  i 

sell,   with   every   ngurative   extravagance,   to   live 

in   purgatory   or   in   hell;   in   her   presence   alone   was   he   in 

paradise.     Elizabeth  rejoiced  in  the  lover-like  attentions  that 

Ralegh  paid  her.     She  affected  to  take  him  at  his  word.     His 

flatteries  were  interpreted  more  literally  than  he  could  have 

wished.     She  refused  to  permit  her  self-styled  lover  to  leave 

her  side.     He  was  ordered  to  fix  his  residence  at  the  court. 

Reluctantly  Ralegh  yielded  to  the  command  of  his  exacting 

mistress.     The  expedition  that  he  fitted  out  to  North  America 

left  without  him. 

Ralegh's  agents,  after  a  six  weeks'  sail,  landed  on  what 
is  now  North  Carolina,  probably  on  the  island  of  Roanoke. 
The  reports  of  the  mariners  were  highly  favour- 
able. A  settlement,  they  declared,  might  readily 
be  made.  At  length  Englishmen  might  inhabit  the  New 
World.  The  notion  presented  itself  to  Ralegh's  mind  to 
invite  the  Queen's  permission  to  bestow  on  this  newly  dis- 
covered territory,  which  was  to  be  the  corner-stone  of  a 
British  colonial  empire,  a  name  that  should  commemorate  his 
fealty  to  the  virgin  Queen,  the  name  of  *  Virginia.'  It  was 
a  compliment  that  the  Queen  well  appreciated  at  her  favour- 
ite's hand.  It  gave  her  a  lease  of  fame  which  the  soil  of 
England  alone  could  not  secure  for  her.  For  many  years 
afterwards  all  the  seaboard  from  Florida  to  Newfoundland 
was  to  bear  that  designation  of  Virginia.  It  was  a  designa- 
tion which  linked  the  first  clear  promise  of  the  colonisation 
by  Englishmen  of  the  North  American  Continent  with  the 
name  of  the  greatest  of  English  queens. 

Ralegh's   project   of   planting   a   great   English  colony   in 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  129 

North  America  had  arisen  in  many  other  minds  before  it 
took  root  in  his.  He  had  heard,  while  fighting  with  the 
Huguenots  in  France,  of  their  hopes  of  founding  in  North 
America  a  New  France,  where  they  should  be  free  from 
the  persecution  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Government.  He 
had  studied  the  ambitious  designs  of  Coligny,  the  leader  of 
the  French  Huguenots,  and  the  tragic  failure  which  marked 
the  first  attempt  of  Frenchmen  to  colonise  North  America. 
It  was  probably  this  knowledge  that  fired  Ralegh's  ambition 
to  make  of  Virginia  a  New  England.  In  that  hope  he  did 
not  himself  succeed,  but  his  failure  was  due  to  no  lack  of 
zeal.  Two  years  after  he  had  received  the  report  Qrenville's 
of  his  first  expedition,  he  sent  out  his  cousin.  Sir  expedition. 
Richard  Grenville,  with  a  band  of  colonists  whom  he  intended 
to  settle  permanently  in  his  country  of  Virginia.  But 
difficulties  arose  which  baffled  his  agent's  powers.  There  were 
desperate  quarrels  between  the  settlers  and  natives.  Food 
was  scanty.  The  forces  of  nature  conquered  the  settlers. 
Most  of  them  were  rescued  from  peril  of  death  and  carried 
home  a  year  later  by  Sir  Francis  Drake.  Ralegh  was  not 
daunted  by  such  disasters.  He  refused  to  abandon  his  aim. 
Further  batches  of  colonists  were  sent  out  by  him  in  later 
years  at  his  expense.  The  results  of  these  expeditions  did  not, 
however,  bring  him  appreciably  nearer  success.  Mystery  over- 
hangs the  fate  of  some  of  these  earliest  English  settlers  in 
America,  Ralegh's  pioneers  of  the  British  empire.  They 
were  either  slain  or  absorbed  past  recognition  by  the  native 
peoples.  In  1587,  one  band  of  Ralegh's  emigrants,  consisting 
of  eighty-nine  men,  seventeen  women,  and  two  children,  were 
left  in  Virginia,  while  their  leaders  came  home  for  supplies, 
but  when  these  emissaries  arrived  again  in  the  new  continent, 
the  settlers  had  all  disappeared.  What  became  of  them  has 
never  been  known. 

I 


130  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Ralegh  was  never  in  his  life  in  Virginia.  He  was  never 
near  its  coast  line.  His  project,  the  fruit  of  idealism,  was 
R  le  h's  ^^^  pursued  with  much  regard  for  practical  real- 
relations  isation.  The  difficulty  of  settling  a  new  country- 
Virginia,  ^ith  Europeans  he  hardly  appreciated.  He  is 
reckoned  to  have  spent  forty  thousand  pounds  in  money  of 
his  own  day — about  a  quarter  of  a  million  pounds  of  our 
own  currency — in  his  efforts  to  colonise  Virginia.  So  long 
as  he  was  a  free  man  his  enthusiasm  for  his  scheme  never 
waned,  and  he  faced  his  pecuniary  losses  with  cheerfulness. 
Despite  his  failures  and  disappointments,  his  costly  and  per- 
sistent efforts  to  colonise  Virginia  are  the  starting-point  of 
the  history  of  English  colonisation.  To  him  more  than  to 
any  other  man  belongs  the  credit  of  indicating  the  road  to 
the  formation  of  a  greater  England  beyond  the  seas. 

Two  subsidiary  results  of  those  early  expeditions  to  Vir- 
ginia which  Ralegh  organised,  illustrate  the  minor  modifica- 
tions of  an  old  country^s   material  economy  that 
The  potato  ^  ,      .  i  .  tt-         m 

and  may  spring  from  colonial  enterprise.     His  sailors 

brought  back  two  new  products  which  were  highly 
beneficial  to  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  especially  to  Ireland. 
Englishmen  and  Irishmen  owe  to  Ralegh's  exertions  their 
practical  acquaintance  with  the  potato  and  with  tobacco.  The 
potato  he  planted  on  his  estates  in  Ireland,  and  it  has  proved 
of  no  mean  service  alike  to  that  country  and  to  England. 
Tobacco  he  learnt  to  smoke,  and  taught  the  art  to  others. 
Tobacco-smoking,  which  revolutionised  the  habits,  at  any 
rate,  of  the  masculine  portion  of  European  society,  is  one 
of  the  striking  results  of  the  first  experiments  in 
tobacco  colonial    expansion.       The   magical   rapidity   with 

smo  ing.  ^hich  the  habit  of  smoking  spread,  especially  in 
Elizabethan  England,  was  a  singular  instance  of  the  adapta- 
bility of   Elizabethan   society   to   new   fashions.      The    prac- 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  131 

tice  of  tobacco-smoking  became  at  a  bound  a  well-nigh 
universal  habit.  Camden,  the  historian  of  the  epoch,  wrote 
a  very  few  years  after  the  return  of  Ralegh's  agents  from 
Virginia  that  since  their  home-coming  '  that  Indian  plant 
called  Tobacco,  or  Nicotina,  is  grown  so  frequent  in  use,  and 
of  such  price,  that  many,  nay,  the  most  part,  with  an  unsatia- 
ble  desire  do  take  of  it,  drawing  into  their  mouth  the  smoke 
thereof,  which  is  of  a  strong  scent,  through  a  pipe  made  of 
earth,  and  venting  of  it  again  through  their  nose;  some 
for  wantonness,  or  rather  fashion  sake,  or  other  for  health 
sake.  Insomuch  that  Tobacco  shops  are  set  up  in  greater 
number  than  either  Alehouses  or  Taverns.'  ^ 

VI 

In   more   imposing   ways    Ralegh's    early   endeavours   bore 
fruit    while    he    lived.      Early    in    the    seventeenth    century 
Captain  John  Smith,  a  born  traveller,  considered    captain 
somewhat   more   fully    and   more   cautiously   than    g^thin 
Ralegh    the    colonising    problem,    and    reached    a    Virginia. 
workable  solution.     In  I6O6  Smith  took  out  to  Virginia  105 
emigrants,  to  the  banks  of  the  James  river  in  Virginia.     His 
colonists   met,   like   Ralegh's   colonists,   with   perilous   vicissi- 
tudes,  but   the   experiment   had   permanent   results.      Before 
Ralegh's    death    he    had    the    satisfaction    of    learning    that 
another   leader's   colonising   energy   had   triumphed   over  the 
obstacles  that  dismayed  himself,  and  the   seed  that  he  had 
planted  had  fructified. 

Smith  was  a  harder-headed  man  of  the  world  than  Ralegh. 
Idealism  was  not  absent  from  his  temperament,  but  it  was 
of  coarser  texture,  and  was  capable  of  answer-  Colonial 
ing  to  a  heavier  strain.  It  was  stoutly  backed  by  of  Ralegh^ 
a  rough  practical  sense.  He  took  the  work  of  disciples. 
colonising  to  be  a  profession  or  handicraft  worthy  of  any 
1  Camden,  Annates,  1625,  Bk.  3,  p.  107. 


132  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

amount  of  energy.  He  preached  the  useful  lesson  that  set- 
tlers in  a  new  country  must  work  laboriously  with  their  hands. 
His  views  echo  those  of  his  farseeing  contemporary.  Bacon, 
who  compressed  into  his  Essay  on  Plantations  the  finest 
practical  wisdom  about  colonisation  that  is  likely  to  be  met 
with.  There  must  be  no  drones  among  colonists  is  the  view 
of  Bacon  and  Captain  John  Smith;  the  scum  of  the  people 
should  never  be  permitted  to  engage  in  colonial  enterprise; 
there  should  not  be  too  much  moiling  underground  in  search 
of  mines;  there  should  be  no  endeavour  to  win  profit  hastily 
and  inconsiderately;  the  native  races  should  be  treated  justly 
Bacon's  ^^^     graciously.       *  Do     not     entertain     savages/ 

views.  Bacon  wrote,  '  with  trifles  and  gingles,  but  show 

them  grace  and  justice,  taking  reasonable  precautions  against 
their  attacks,  but  not  seeking  the  favour  of  any  one  tribe 
amongst  them  by  inciting  it  to  attack  another  tribe.*  Above 
all,  it  was  the  duty  of  a  mother-country  to  promote  the  per- 
manence and  the  prosperity  of  every  colonial  settlement  which 
had  been  formed  with  her  approval.  '  It  is  the  sinfuUest 
thing  in  the  world  to  forsake  or  destitute  a  plantation  once 
in  forwardness.  For,  beside  the  dishonour,  it  is  the  guilti- 
ness of  blood  of  many  commiserable  persons.' 

It  was  colonisation  conceived  on  these  great  lines  that  Cap- 
tain John  Smith,  Ralegh's  disciple,  carried  out  in  practice 
Captain  y^Hh.    a    measure    of    success.      His    idealism    was 

i^^^u^  not    of    the    tender    kind    which    enfeebled    his 

bnuth  s 

views.  working  methods,  but  it  flashed  forth  with  brilliant 

force  in  the  prophetic  energy  with  which  he  preached  the 
value  of  a  colonial  outlet  to  the  surplus  population  of  an 
old  country.  '  What  so  truly  suits  with  honour  and  honesty 
as  the  discovering  of  things  unknown,  erecting  towns,  peo- 
pling countries,  informing  the  ignorant,  reforming  things 
unjust,  teaching  virtue,  and  to  gain  our  native  mother-country 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  133 

a  kingdom  to  attend  her,  to  find  employment  for  those  that 
are  idle  because  they  know  not  what  to  do?' 


TII 


The  rivalry  between  Spain  and  England  which  was  largely 
the    result    of    the    simultaneous    endeavour    to    colonise    the 
newly-discovered  countries    reached   its   climax   in    ^^^ 
1588,  when  Spain  made  a  mighty  effort  to  crush    Spanish 
English  colonial  enterprise  at  its  fountain-head  by 
equipping  a  great  fleet  to  conquer  and  annex  the  island  of 
Britain  itself.      Ralegh   naturally  took  part  in  resistmg  the 
great  expedition  of  the  Spanish  Armada,  and  contributed  to 
the  defeat  of  that  magnificently  insolent  efi-ort.     He  does  not 
seem  to  have  taken  a  very  prominent  part  in  active  hostilities, 
but  he  did  useful  work;  he  helped  to  organise  the  victory. 
When  the  danger  was  past  he  was  anxious  to  pursue  the  offen- 
sive with  the  utmost  vigour  and  to  forward  attacks  on  Spam 
in   all  parts   of  the  world.      Her   dominion  of  the  Western 
oceans  must  be  broken  if  England  was  to  secure  a  colonial 
empire.     Others  for  the  moment  took  more  active  part  than 
Ralegh  in  giving  effect  to  the  policy  of  aggression.     But  in 
1592  an  expedition  under  his  control  captured  a  great  Spanish 
vessel  homeward  bomid  from  the  East  Indies  with  a  cargo  of 
the  estimated  value  of  upwards  of  half  a  million  sterling. 

Ralegh  had  ventured  his  own  money  on  the  expedition, 
and  was  awarded  a  share  of  the  plmider,  but  it  was  some- 
thing less  than  that  to  which  he  thought  himself  entitled,  and 
he  did  not  dissemble  his  annoyance.     Ralegh  was  masterful 
and  assertive  in  intercourse  with  professional  col-    j^_^,^^^,^ 
leagues  of  his  own  rank.     His  colonising  idealism    hopes  of 
was  not  proof  against  the  strain  of  idly  watching 
others    reap    from    active    participation    in    the    great    strug- 
gle   with    Spain    a    larger    personal    reward    than    himself. 


134,  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Desire  for  wealth  grew  upon  him  as  the  passions  of  youth 
cooled^  and  the  hope  that  some  of  the  profits  which  Spain 
had  acquired  from  her  settlements  in  the  New  World  might 
fill  his  own  coffers  besieged  his  brain.  Anxiety  to  make  out 
of  an  energetic  pursuit  of  colonisation  a  mighty  fortune,  was 
coming  into  conflict  with  the  elevated  aspirations  of  early 
days.  The  vehement  struggle  of  vice  and  virtue  for  mastery 
over  men's  souls,  which  characterised  the  Elizabethan  age 
in  a  greater  degree  than  any  other  age,  was  seeking  a  battle- 
ground in  Ralegh's  spirit. 

Ralegh  shared  that  versatility  of  interest  and  capacity 
which  infected  the  enlightenment  of  the  era.  Like  his  great 
Intellectual  contemporaries,  his  energy  never  allowed  him  to 
pureui  s  confine  his  aims  to  any  one  branch  of  effort.     In- 

sympathies  Merest  in  literature  and  philosophy  was  intertwined 
with  his  interest  in  the  practical  affairs  of  life,  and  he  had 
at  command  many  avenues  of  escape  from  life's  sordid 
temptations.  The  range  of  his  speculative  instinct  was  not 
limited  by  the  material  world.  It  was  not  enough  for  him 
to  discover  new  countries  or  new  wealth.  He  was  ambitious 
to  discover  new  truths  of  religion,  of  philosophy,  of  poetry. 
No  man  cherished  a  more  enthusiastic  or  more  disinterested 
affection  for  those  who  excelled  in  intellectual  pursuits.  No 
man  was  more  generous  in  praise  of  contemporary  poets,  or 
better  proved  in  word  and  deed  his  sympathy  with  the 
noblest  aspirations  of  contemporary  literature.  From  the 
early  days  of  his  career  in  Ireland  he  was  the  intimate 
associate  of  Spenser,  who  held  civil  office  there,  and  lived  in 
his   neighbourhood.      Spenser,   the    great   poet    and   moralist, 

who  in  his  age  was  second  in  genius  only  to  the 
His  poetry.  j        /»       i 

master    poet,     Shakespeare,    was     proud    of    the 

friendship.       With     characteristic     ambition     to     master     all 

branches  of  intellectual  energy,  Ralegh  emulated  his  friend 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  135 

and  neighbour  in  writing  poetry.  His  success  was  paradoxi- 
cally great.  His  poetry  breathes  a  lyric  fervour  which  is  not 
out  of  harmony  with  his  disposition,  but  its  frequent  tone  of 
placid  meditation  seems  far  removed  from  the  stormy  temper 
of  his  life.  The  most  irrepressible  of  talkers,  when  speech 
was  injurious  to  his  own  interests,  he  preached  in  verse  more 
than  once  the  virtues  of  silence: 

'Passions  are  likened  best  to  flood  and  streams; 

The  shallow  murmur,  but  the  deep  are  dumb; 
So  when  affections  yield  discourse,  it  seems 

The  bottom  is  but  shallow  whence  they  come. 
They  that  are  rich  in  words,  in  words  discover 
That  they  are  poor  in  that  which  makes  a  lover.* 

Amid  the  rush  and  turmoil  of  politics  and  of  warfare  which 
absorbed  the  major  part  of  his  activity,  Ralegh  never  for 
long  abandoned 

'Those  clear  weUs 
Where  sweetness  dweUs,* 

— the  sweetness  of  philosophy,  poetry,  history,  and  all  the 
pacific  arts  that  can  engage  the  mind  of  man.  Poetry  was 
only  one  of  many  interests  in  the  literary  sphere.  He  loved 
to  gather  round  him  the  boldest  intellects  of  his  day  and, 
regardless  of  consequences,  frankly  to  discuss  with  them  the 
mysteries  of  existence.  Marlowe,  the  founder  of  English 
tragedy,  the  tutor  of  Shakespeare,  was  his  frequent  com- 
panion. They  debated  together  the  evidences  of  Christianity, 
and  reached  the  perilous  conclusion  that  they  were  foimded 
on  sand.  He  was  a  member,  too,  of  one  of  the  earliest 
societies  or  clubs  of  Antiquaries  in  England,  and  surveyed 
the  progress  of  civilisation  in  England  from  very  early  times. 
He  caught  light  and  heat  from  intercourse  with  all  classes 
of   men   to   whom   things   of   the   mind   appealed.      To   him. 


136  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

tradition  assigns  the  first  invention  of  those  famous  meetings 
of  men  of  letters  which  long  dignified  the  *  Mermaid '  Tavern 

in  Bread  Street  in  the  City  of  London.     Credible 
Meetings 

at  the  tradition    asserts    that    those    meetings    were    at- 

*  Mermaid.*  i    i     i         oi    i  t.  t 

tended    by    Shakespeare,    Ben    Jonson,    and    all 

the  literary  masters  of  the  time;  that  there  stimulating  wit 
was  freer  than  air.  Genius  encountered  genius,  each  in  its 
gayest  humour.     The  spoken  words  were 

*So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame. 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest. 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life.* 

No  part  of  Ralegh's  life  could  be  dull.  All  parts  of  it  were 
full  of  '  subtle  flame.'  But  that  flame  was  destined  to  burn 
itself  out  far  away  from  the  haunts  of  his  comrades  of 
the  pen. 

VIII 

Ralegh's  versatility,  the  free  imfettered  play  of  his  fertile 
thought,  distinguishes  him  even  among  Elizabethan  English- 
men, and  lends  his  biography  the  strangest  mingling  of  light 
and  shadow.  His  tireless  speculative  ambition  manifested 
itself  in  the  most  imposing  practical  way  when  he  was  about 
forty  years  old.  Self-contradiction  was  inherent  in  his  acts. 
Despite  his  reverence  for  the  triumphs  of  the  intellect,  the 
aff'airs  of  the  world  were  ever  under  his  eager  observation. 
Ripening  experience  deepened  the  conviction  that  gold  was 
the  pivot  on  which  human  aflTairs  mainly  revolved,  and  that 
he  who  commanded  untold  sources  of  wealth  could  gratify 
all  human  desires  for  power.  The  opportunity  of  making  such 
a  conquest  suddenly  seemed  to  present  itself  to  Ralegh.  His 
poetic  imagination  made  him  credulous.      He   resolved   on  a 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  137 

pilgrimage  to  a  fabulous  city,  where  endless  treasure  awaited 

the  victorious  invader. 

Reports  had  been  spread  in   Spain  of  the  existence  of  a 

city  of  fabulous  wealth  in  South  America  to  which  had  been 

given  the  Spanish  name  of  *  El  Dorado.'     Its  lo- 

-,       -,   n      -,       -r  -,         .        El  Dorado. 

cation  was  vaguely  denned.     It  was  stated  to  be 

in  the  troublous  country  that  we  now  know  as  Venezuela, 
which  is  itself  part  of  the  wider  territory  called  by  geograph- 
ers Guiana.  The  rumour  fired  Ralegh's  brain.  The  ambition  to 
investigate  its  truth  proved  irresistible.  Hurriedly  he  sent  out 
an  agent  to  enquire  into  the  story  on  what  was  thought  to  be 
the  spot,  but  the  messenger  brought  him  no  information  of 
importance.  Vicarious  enquiry  proved  of  no  avail.  At 
length  in  1595  Ralegh  went  out  himself.  He  infected  his 
friends  with  his  own  sanguine  expectation.  He  succeeded 
in  enlisting  the  sympathy  or  material  support  of  the  chief 
ministers  of  state.  He  obtained  a  commission  from  the 
Queen  permitting  him  to  wage  war  if  necessary  upon  the 
Spaniard  and  the  native  American  in  South  America.  No  risk 
was  too  great  to  be  run  in  such  a  quest.  The  exploit  which 
was  to  provide  endless  peril  and  excitement  was  the  turning- 
point  of  Ralegh's  career. 

Without  delay  Ralegh  reached  Trinidad,  a  Spanish  settle- 
ment. From  the  first  active  hostilities  had  to  be  faced.  Lit- 
tle resistance  was  offered,  however,  at  Trinidad, 

'  '  'The 

and   Ralegh  took   prisoner  the   Spanish   governor.    Expedition 
1  1  1  mi  to  Guiana, 

who  proved  a  most  amiable  gentleman.  I  he  gover- 
nor freely  told  Ralegh  all  he  knew  of  this  reputed  city  or  mine 
of  gold  on  the  mainland.  A  Spanish  explorer  a  few  years 
ago  had,  it  appeared,  lived  among  the  natives  of  Guiana  for 
seven  months,  and  on  his  death-bed  bore  witness  to  a  limit- 
less promise  of  gold  near  the  banks  of  the  great  river  Orinoco 
and  its   tributaries   which  watered   the   territory   of   Guiana. 


138  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

In  April  1595  Ralegh^  with  a  little  flotilla  of  ten  boats 
bearing  one  hundred  men^  and  provisions  for  a  month,  started 
on  his  voyage  up  the  river.  The  equipment  was  far  from 
adequate  for  the  stirring  enterprise.  '  Our  vessels/  Ralegh 
wrote,  *  were  no  other  than  wherries,  one  little  barge,  a 
small  cockboat,  and  a  bad  galliota,  which  we  framed  in  haste 
for  that  purpose  at  Trinidad,  and  those  little  boats  had  nine 
or  ten  men  apiece  with  victuals  and  arms.'  They  had  to  row 
against  the  stream,  which  flowed  with  extraordinary  fury;  the 
banks  were  often  covered  with  thick  wood,  and  floating  timber 
was  an  ever  present  danger.  Debarcation  for  prospecting 
purposes  was  attended  with  the  gravest  risks.  The  swiftness 
of  the  current  often  rendered  swimming  or  wading  impossible. 

The   hardships   which    Ralegh   and   his   companions    faced 

hardly  admit  of  exaggeration.     Almost  every  day  they  were 

*  melted  with  heat  in  rowing  and  marching,  and  suddenly  wet 

again  with  great  showers.     They  ate  of  all  sorts  of  corrupt 

fruit  and  made  meals  of  fresh  fish  without  season.'     They 

lodged   in   the   open   air   every   night.      Not   in   the   filthiest 

prison  in  England  could  be  found  men  in  a  more 
Hardships.  -.11,1  1 

unsavory    and   loathsome      condition,   than    were 

Ralegh   and  his    friends   while   they   ran   their   race   for   the 

golden  prize.     But  their  spirits  never  drooped.     Their  hopes 

ran  high  to  the  end.     Ralegh  was  able  in  his  most  desperate 

straits  to  note  in  detail  the  aspects  of  nature  and  the  varied 

scenery   that   met   his   gaze.      Despite   the   inhospitable   river 

banks,  nature  smiled  on  much  of  the  country  beyond.     After 

climbing  one    notable   hill,    '  there    appeared,'    Ralegh    wrote 

with   attractive   vivacity,    *  some   ten   or   twelve   waterfalls   in 

sight,    every   one   as    high   above   the    other    as    a 
The 
natural  church    tower,    which    fell    with    that    fury,    that 

SC6I16Z*V 

the  rebound  of  waters  made  it  seem  as  if  they  had 
been  all  covered  over  with  a  great  shower  of  rain;  and  in 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  189 

some  places  we  took  it  at  the  first  for  a  smoke  that  had 
risen  over  some  great  town.  For  mine  own  part,  I  was  well 
persuaded  from  thence  to  have  returned,  being  a  very  ill 
footman;  but  the  rest  were  all  so  desirous  to  go  near  the  said 
strange  thunder  of  waters,  as  they  drew  me  on  by  little  and 
little,  till  we  came  into  the  next  valley,  where  we  might  better 
discern  the  same.  I  never  saw  a  more  beautiful  country,  nor 
more  lively  prospects,  hills  so  raised  here  and  there  over  the 
valleys,  the  river  winding  into  divers  branches,  the  plains 
adjoining  without  bush  or  stubble,  all  fair  green  grass,  the 
ground  of  hard  sand,  easy  to  march  on  either  for  horse  or 
foot,  the  deer  crossing  in  every  path,  the  birds  towards  the 
evening  singing  on  every  tree  with  a  thousand  several  tunes, 
cranes  and  herons  of  white,  crimson,  and  carnation,  perching 
on  the  river's  side,  the  air  fresh,  with  a  gentle  easterly  wind; 
and  every  stone  that  we  stopped  to  take  up  promised  either 
gold  or  silver  by  his  complexion.' 

But  Ralegh  and  his  friends  had  mistaken  their  route,  and 
were  bent  on  what  proved  a  fool's  errand.  The  golden 
fleece  was  unattainable.  The  promise  of  the  stones  on  the 
shores  was  imperfectly  fulfilled.  After  proceeding  four 
hundred  and  forty  miles  up  the  difficult  river,  further 
progress  was  found  impossible.  Then  Ralegh  and  his  com- 
panions went  down  with  the  current  back  to  the  sea.  The 
*  white  spar  *  on  the  river  bank,  in  which  appeared  to  be  signs 
of  gold,  was  all  that  the  travellers  brought  home.  Metal- 
lurgists to  whom  he  submited  them,  on  revisiting  London, 
declared  the  appearance  true.^ 

>  Scoffers  freely  asserted  that  the  '  white  spar,'  many  tons  of  which  Ralegh 
brough  home  with  him,  was  nothing  else  than  'marcasite'  or  iron-pyrites. 
In  the  letter  to  the  reader  with  which  he  prefaced  his  Discovery  of  Guiana 
Ralegh  categorically  denied  the  allegation.  He  wrote  hopefully, '  In  London 
it  was  first  assayed  by  Master  Westwood,  a  refiner  dwelling  in  Wood  Street, 
and  it  held  after  the  rate  of  12,000  or  13,000  pounds  a  ton.  Another  sort 
was  afterwards  tried  by  Master  Bulmar  and  Master  Dimoke,  assay-master. 


140  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Ralegh  came  near  making  a  great 
discovery.  Little  question  exists  that  a  great  gold  mine  lay 
in  Venezuela,  not  far  from  the  furthest  point  of 
reach  of  his  voyage  up  the  river  Orinoco.  Many  years 
later,  during  the  nineteenth  century,  a  gold  mine 
was  discovered  within  the  range  of  Ralegh's  exploration,  and 
has  since  been  worked  to  great  profit.  But  the  El  Dorado 
which  Ralegh  thought  to  grasp  had  eluded  him.  It  remained 
for  him  a  dream.  Not  that  he  ever  wavered  in  his  confident 
belief  that  the  city  of  gold  existed  and  was  yet  to  be  won. 
He  retired  for  the  time  with  the  resolve  to  make  new  advances 
hereafter.  He  left  behind,  with  a  tribe  of  friendly  natives, 
*  one  Francis  Sparrow  (a  servant  of  Captain  GifFord),  who 
was  desirous  to  tarry,  and  could  describe  a  country  with  his 
pen,  and  a  boy  of  mine,  Hugh  Goodwin,  to  learn  the 
language.' 

Affairs  at  home  prevented  Ralegh's  early  return  to  South 
America.  A  new  Spanish  settlement  soon  blocked  the  en- 
trance to  the  river  Orinoco,  and  the  region  he  had  entered 
was  put  beyond  his  reach.  A  last  desperate  attempt  to  force 
a  second  passage  up  the  Orinoco  brought,  as  events  turned 
out,  Ralegh  to  the  scaffold.  He  had  soared  to  heights  at  which 
he  could  not  sustain  his  flight. 

One  result  of  Ralegh's  first  experience  of  the  banks  of  the 
Orinoco  demands  a  recognition,  which  requires  no  apology. 
His  narrative  of  the  expedition — The  Discovery  of  Guiana 
— ranks     with     the     most     vivid     pictures     of     travel.       No 

and  it  held  after  the  rate  of  23,000  pounds  a  ton.  There  was  some  of  it  again 
tried  by  Master  Palmer,  comptroller  of  the  mint,  and  Master  Dimoke  in  Gold- 
smith's hall,  and  it  was  held  after  at  the  rate  of  26,900  pounds  a  ton.  There 
was  also  at  the  same  time,  and  by  the  same  persons,  a  trial  made  of  the 
dust  of  the  said  mine,  which  held  eight  pounds  six  ounces  weight  of  gold  in 
the  hundred;  there  was  likewise  at  the  same  time,  a  trial  made  of  an  image 
of  copper  made  in  Guiana  which  held  a  third  part  gold,  besides  divers  trials 
made  in  the  country,  and  by  others  in  London.' 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  141 

reader,    be    he   naturalist    or    geographer    or    ethnologist,    or 

mere  lover  of  stirring  adventure,  will  turn  to  the  fascinating 

pages    without    delight.      Literary    faculty    in    a   traveller    is 

always  refreshing.     Few  books  of  travel  are  more  exhilarating 

or  invigorating  than  this  story  by  Ralegh  of  his  hazardous 

voyage. 

When    Ralegh   came   back   to   England   from   the   Orinoco 

he  flung  himself  with  undaunted  energy  into  further  conflict 

with  Spain.     There  were  rumours  of  a  new  span- 
Further 
ish   invasion    of    England,   which   it   was    deemed    conflict 

.   _  , .  ,  ,  .         n       .       .       1  with  Spain. 

essential  to  divert  by  attacking  fepam  in  her  own 

citadels.     Two  great  expeditions  were   devised,  and  in  both 

Ralegh  took  an  active  part.     He  was   with  the   fleet  which 

attacked   Cadiz   in    1596.      Again   next   year   he   joined   in   a 

strenuous   eff'ort  to   intercept   Spanish  treasure   ships   off  the 

Azores.      Ralegh    worked    ill    under    discipline,    and    chiefly, 

owing  to  his  quarrels  with  his  fellow-commanders,  the  attempt 

on  the   islands   of   the  Atlantic   failed.      Fortune   had   never 

been  liberal  in  the  bestowal  of  her  favours  on  him.     At  best 

she  had   extended  to  him   a  cold  neutrality.     Little  of  the 

glory  or  the  gain  that  came  of  the  last  two  challenges  to 

Spain    fell    to     Ralegh.       Thenceforth    the    fickle    goddess 

assumed  an  attitude  of  menace,  which  could  not  be  mistaken. 

She  became  his  active  and  persistent  foe. 


Ralegh's  later  years  were  dogged  by  disaster.  With  the 
death  of  Queen  Elizabeth  begins  the  story  of  his  ruin.  She 
had  proved  no  constant  mistress  and  had  at  times  driven  him 
from  her  presence.  His  marriage  in  1592  had  excited  more 
than  the  usual  measure  of  royal  resentment.  But  Queen 
Elizabeth  was  not  obdurate  in  her  wrath.     Her  favour  was 


142  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

never  forfeited  irrevocably.  Ralegh  long  held  the  court 
office  of  captain  of  the  guard.  In  her  latest  years,  there 
was  renewal  of  his  sovereign's  old  show  of  regard  for 
him.  She  liked  to  converse  with  him  in  private;  and  the 
envious  declared  that  she  '  took  him  for  a  kind  of  oracle.'  To 
the  last  he  addressed  her  in  those  adulatory  strains  which  she 
loved.  During  all  her  reign,  adversity  had  mingled  in  his 
lot  with  prosperity,  but  prosperity  delusively  seemed  at  the 
close  to  sway  the  scales. 

A  bitter  spirit  of  faction  divided  Queen  Elizabeth's  advisers 
against  themselves.     Ralegh's  hot-temper  and  impatience  of 

subordination,   made    him    an    easy   mark    for   the 
Ralegh  and 

Court  hatred    and    uncharitableness    which    the    factious 

factions. 

atmosphere    fostered.      The    outspoken    language 

which  was  habitual  to  him  was  violently  resented  by  rival 
claimants  to  the  Queen's  favour.  With  one  of  these,  the  Earl 
of  Essex,  who  was  even  more  self-confident  and  impetuous 
than  himself,  he  maintained  an  implacable  feud  until  the 
Earl's  death  on  the  scaffold.  Ralegh  had  come  into  conflict 
with  Lord  Howard  of  Effingham,  the  great  admiral  of  the 
Armada,  and  an  influential  member  of  the  Howard  family. 
The  admiral's  numerous  kindred  regarded  him  with  aversion. 
Sir  Robert  Cecil,  the  principal  Secretary  of  State  in  Queen 
Elizabeth's  last  years,  who  held  in  his  hand  all  the  threads 
of  England's  policy,  although  more  outwardly  complacent, 
cherished  suspicion  of  Ralegh.  It  was  only  royal  favour  that 
had  hitherto  rendered  innocuous  the  shafts  of  his  foes.  Now 
that  that  favour  was  withdrawn  Ralegh  was  to  find  that 
he  had  sown  the  wind  and  was  to  reap  the  whirlwind.  For- 
tune, wrote  a  contemporary,  *  picked  him  out  of  purpose 
.  .  .  to  use  as  her  tennis  ball '  ;  having  tossed  him  up 
from  nothingness  to  a  point  within  hail  of  greatness  she  then 
unconcernedly  tossed  him  down  again. 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  143 

Between    Ralegh   and   his   new   sovereign,   James    i.,   little 

sympathy  subsisted.     They  knew  little  of  one  another.     To 

Raleffh's   personal    enemies    at  court   James   owed 

'^  ^  The  acces- 

the  easy  road  which  led  him  to  the  English  throne,    sion  of 

Ralegh  on  purely  personal  grounds,  which  court 
schisms  fully  account  for,  abstained  from  showing  enthu- 
siasm for  James's  accession.  He  fully  recognised  the  justice 
of  the  Scottish  monarch's  title  to  the  English  crown.  But 
he  had  not  pledged  himself  like  his  private  foes  in  a  prelimi- 
nary correspondence  to  support  the  new  King  actively.  By 
that  preliminary  correspondence  the  King  set  great  store. 
He  was  not  prepossessed  in  favour  of  any  of  Elizabeth's 
courtiers  who  had  failed  before  Elizabeth's  death  to  avow 
in  writing  profoundest  sympathy  with  his  cause. 

As  soon  as  James  became  King  of  England,  Ralegh's 
position  at  court  was  seen  to  be  insecure.  His  enemies  were 
favourably  placed  for  avenging  any  imagined  indignity  which 
his  influence  with  the  late  sovereign  had  enabled  him  to  inflict 
on  them.  He  lay  at  he  mercy  of  factions  which  were 
markedly  hostile  to  himself  and  held  the  ear  of  the  new 
sovereign.  There  was  no  likelihood  that  the  new  wearer  of 
the  crown  would  exert  himself  to  protect  him  from  assault. 

At  first  a  comparatively   petty  disgrace  was   put   on   him. 

He   was    unceremoniously    superseded   in   his    court   office    of 

captain   of  the   guard,   a   post   which   had   brought   him   into 

much  personal  contact  with  the  late  sovereign.     He  naturally 

resented  the  aflTront  and  showed  irritation  amona: 

°     Fabricated 
his     friends.       The    king's     allies     found     ready    charges  of 

treason, 
means    of    mcreasing    their    own    importance    and 

improving   their    prospects    of    advancement    by    drawing    to 

light  of  day  and  exaggerating  any  hasty  expression  of  doubt 

respecting  James's  legal  title  to  the  English  crown  of  which 

they  could  find  evidence.     Dishonest  agents  easily  distorted 


144  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

an  inconsiderate  word  of  dissatisfaction  with  the  political 
situation  into  deliberate  treason.  An  intricate  charge  of  this 
character  was  rapidly  devised  against  Ralegh  by  his  factious 
foes,  and  almost  without  warning  he  was  brought  within 
peril  of  his  life.  He  was  accused  on  vague  hearsay  of  having 
joined  in  a  plot  to  surprise  the  king's  person  with  a  view  to 
his  abduction  or  assassination.  It  was  alleged  that  he  was 
conspiring  to  set  up  another  on  the  throne,  to  wit,  the  king's 
distant  cousin,  Arabella  Stuart.  Ralegh  was  put  under  arrest. 
Thoroughly  exasperated  by  the  victory  which  his  enemies 
had  won  over  him,  he  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  lost  nerve. 
He  made  an  abortive  attempt  at  suicide.  This  rash  act  was 
held  by  his  persecutors  to  attest  his  guilt.  When  he  was 
brought  to  trial  at  Winchester — the  plague  in  London  had 
compelled  the  Court's  migration — all  legal  forms  were 
Sentence  pressed  against  him.  In  the  result  he  was  con- 
of  death.  demned  to  a  traitor's  death  (17  Nov.  1603).  His 
estates  were  forfeited,  and  such  offices  as  he  still  retained 
were  taken  from  him. 

For  three  weeks  Ralegh  lay  in  Winchester  Castle  in  almost 
daily  expectation  of  the  executioner's   dread  summons.      He 

sought  consolation  in  literature,  and  in  letters  and 
The  respite. 

in  poems  addressed  to  his  wife  he  sought  to  recon- 
cile himself  to  his  fate.  He  made  no  complaint  of  his  per- 
verse lot.  He  had  drunk  deep  of  life  and  was  not  averse 
in  his  passion  for  new  experience  to  taste  death.  But  James 
faltered  at  the  last  and  hesitated  to  sign  the  death-warrant. 
A  month  after  the  trial  Ralegh  was  informed  that  he  was 
reprieved  of  the  capital  punishment.  He  was  to  be  kept  a 
prisoner  in  the  Tower  of  London.  He  was  not  pardoned,  nor 
was  his  sentence  commuted  to  any  fixed  term  of  confinement. 
As  long  as  he  was  alive,  it  was  tacitly  assumed  by  those  in 
high  places  that  liberty  would  be  denied  him.     It  was  diffi- 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  145 

cult  for  one  of  Ralegh's  energy  to  reconcile  himself  to  the 
situation.  Bondage  was  for  him  barely  thinkable.  Long 
years  of  waiting  could  not  vanquish  the  assured  hope  that 
freedom  would  again  be  his,  and  he  would  carry  further  the 
projects  that  were  as  yet  only  half  begun. 


Ralegh's  intellectual  activity  was  invincible,  and  there  he 
found   the    main    preservative   against   the    numbing    despair 
with   which   the   prison's   galling  tedium  menaced    jnthe 
him.     He  was  allowed  some  special  privileges.     At    Tower, 
first,  his  lot  was  alleviated  by  the  companionship  of  his  wife 
and  sons.     Within  the  precincts  of  the  Tower  and  its  garden 
he  was  apparently  free  to  move  about  at  will.     But  he  con- 
centrated   all   his    mental   strength    while    in   confinement   on 
study — study  of  exceptionally  varied  kinds.     Literature  and 
science  divided  his  allegiance.     In  a  laboratory  or  still-house 
which  he  was  allowed  to  occupy  in  the  garden  of  the  Tower 
he  carried  on   a  long  series  of  chemical   experi-    scientific 
ments.       Many     of     his     scientific    investigations    c^^^osity. 
proved  successful;  he  condensed  fresh  water   from  salt,  an 
art  which  has  only  been  practised  generally  during  the  past 
century.     He  compounded  new  drugs  against  various  disorders 
which  became  popular,  and  were  credited  with  great  efficacy. 
Chemistry,  medicine,  philosophy,  all  appealed  to  his  catholic 
curiosity.     Nevertheless  his  main  intellectual  energy  was  ab- 
sorbed by  literature.     The  grandeur  of  human  life  and  aspira- 
tion impressed  him  in  his  enforced  retirement  from  the  world 
more  deeply  than  when  he  was  himself  a  free  actor  on  the 
stage.      He   designed   a  noble  contribution  to   English  prose 
literature,  his  History  of  the  World.     He  set  him-    History  of 
self  the  heavy  task  of  surveying  minutely  and  ex-    the  World, 
actly    human     endeavours     in    the    early    days     of    human 

K 


146  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

experience.  He  sought  to  write  a  history  of  the  five  great 
empires  of  the  East — of  Egypt,  Babylon,  Assyria,  Persia, 
and  Macedonia.  Only  a  fragment  of  the  work  was  com- 
pleted; it  broke  off  abruptly  one  hundred  and  thirty  years 
before  the  Christian  era,  with  the  conquest  of  Macedon  by 
Rome.  But  Ralegh's  achievement  is  a  lasting  memorial  of 
his  genius  and  the  elevated  aspect  of  his  career. 

Ralegh  did  not  approach  a  study  of  history  in  a  strictly 
critical  spirit,  and  his  massive  accumulations  of  facts,  which 
he  collected  from  six  or  seven  hundred  volumes  in  many 
tongues,  have  long  been  superannuated.  But  he  showed  en- 
lightenment in  many  an  unexpected  direction.  He  betrayed 
a  lively  appreciation  of  the  need  of  studying  geography 
together  with  history,  and  he  knew  the  value  of  chronological 
accuracy.  His  active  imagination  made  him  a  master  of 
historic  portraiture,  and  historical  personages  like  Artaxerxes, 
Queen  Jezebel,  Demetrius,  Pyrrhus,  or  Epaminondas,  are 
drawn  with  a  master's  pencil. 

Ralegh's  methods  were  discursive.  He  digressed  from  the 
ancient  to  the  modern  world.  The  insight  which  illumined 
Censure  of  ^^^  account  of  the  heroes  of  a  remote  past  was 
Henry  VIII.  suffered  now  and  again  to  play  quite  irrelevantly 
about  the  personalities  of  recent  rulers  of  his  own  land.  He 
was  content  to  speak  the  truth  as  far  as  it  was  known, 
without  fear  of  consequences.  Of  Henry  viii.  he  writes  un- 
compromisingly, thus:  'If  all  the  pictures  and  patterns  of 
a  merciless  prince  were  lost  in  the  world,  they  might  all 
again  be  painted  to  the  life  out  of  the  story  of  this  king.  For 
how  many  servants  did  he  advance  in  haste  (but  for  what 
virtue  no  man  could  suspect),  and  with  the  change  of  his  fancy 
ruined  again,  no  man  knowing  for  what  offence!  .  .  . 
What  laws  and  wills  did  he  devise,  to  establish  this  kingdom 
in  his  own  issues?  using  his  sharpest  weapons  to  cut  off  and 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  147 

cut  down  those  branches  which  sprang  from  the  same  root  that 
himself  did.  And  in  the  end  (notwithstanding  these  his  so 
many  irreligious  provisions)  it  pleased  God  to  take  away  all  his 
own  without  increase;  though,  for  themselves  in  their  several 
kinds,  all  princes  of  eminent  virtue.'  The  father  of  his  late 
royal  mistress  could  hardly  have  been  more  caustically  limned. 
It  was  Ralegh's  intense  love  of  the  present  which  fre- 
quently turned  his  narrative  by  devious  paths  far  from  his 

riarhtful  topics  of  the  past.     He  cannot  resist  the 

°  ^  ^  Criticism 

temptation  of  commenting  freely  on  matters  within    of  current 
1  .  1  .  1  IT     events. 

his  personal  cognisance  as  they  rose  to  his  mmd 

in  the  silence  of  his  prison  cell.  Despite  the  consequent 
irregularity  of  plan,  his  strange  irrelevances  endow  the 
History  in  the  sight  of  posterity  with  most  of  its  freshness 
and  originality.  The  mass  of  his  material  may  be  condemned 
as  dryasdust,  but  the  breath  of  living  experience  preserves 
substantial  fragments  of  it  from  decay.  A  perennial  interest 
attaches  to  Ralegh's  suggestive  treatment  of  philosophic  ques- 
tions, such  as  the  origin  of  law.  Remarks  on  the  tactics  of  the 
Spaniards  in  the  Armada,  on  the  capture  of  Fayal  in  the 
Azores,  on  the  courage  of  Elizabethan  Englishmen,  on  the 
tenacity  of  Spaniards,  on  England's  relations  with  Ireland, 
may  be  inappropriate  to  their  Babylonian  or  Persian  sur- 
roundings, but  they  reflect  the  first-hand  knowledge  of  an 
observer  of  infinite  mental  resource,  who  never  failed  to 
express  his  own  opinions  with  sincerity  and  dignity.  His 
style,  although  often  involved,  is  free  from  conceits,  and 
keeps  pace  as  a  rule  with  the  majesty  of  his  design. 

The  general  design  and  style  of  Ralegh's  History  of  the 
World  are  indeed  more  noteworthy  than  any  de-    The  moral 
tails  of  its  scheme  or  execution.     The  design  is    ^J^J^g^^ 
instinct  with  magnanimous  insight  into  the  springs    enterprise, 
of  human   action.      Throughout   it  breathes   a   serious   moral 


148  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

purpose.  It  illustrates  the  sureness  with  which  ruin  over- 
takes '  great  conquerors  and  other  troublers  of  the  world  '  who 
neglect  law  whether  human  or  divine.  It  is  homage  paid  to 
the  corner-stone  of  civilised  society  by  one  who  knew  at 
once  how  to  keep  and  how  to  break  laws  of  both  God  and 
man.  There  is  an  inevitable  touch  of  irony  in  Ralegh's  large- 
hearted  sermon.  After  showing  how  limitless  is  man's  ambi- 
tion and  how  rotten  is  its  fruit  unless  it  be  restrained  by 
respect  for  justice,  Ralegh  turns  aside  in  his  concluding  pages 
to  salute  human  greatness,  however  it  may  be  achieved,  as  an 
empty  dream.  He  closes  his  book  with  a  sublime  apostrophe 
to  Death  the  destroyer,  who  is  after  all  the  sole  arbiter  of 
mortal  man's  destiny. 

XI 

But  despite  all  his  characteristic  alertness  of  mind, 
Ralegh,  while  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower,  was  always  looking 
Hopes  of  forward  hopefully  to  the  day  of  his  release.  His 
freedom.  ^^^  ^^^^^  reverted  to  that  land  of  gold,  the 
exploration  of  which  he  had  just  missed  completing  eight  or 
nine  years  before.  The  ambition  to  repeat  the  experiment 
grew  on  him.  James  i.'s  Queen,  and  her  son  and  heir  Henry 
Prince  of  Wales,  had  always  regarded  Ralegh  as  the  victim 
of  injustice,  and  sympathised  with  his  aspirations  for  liberty. 
They  listened  encouragingly  to  his  pleas  for  a  new  expedition 
to  America.  Ralegh  was  not  ready  to  neglect  the  opportunity 
their  favour  offered  him.  From  them  he  turned  to  petition 
the  Privy  Council  and  the  King  himself.  He  would  refuse 
no  condition  if  his  prayer  was  granted.  He  offered  to  risk 
his  head  if  he  went  once  more  to  the  Orinoco  and  failed  in 
rpjjp  his   search.     At  length,   after   five  years   of  per- 

return^to  tinacious  petitioning,  the  King  yielded,  perhaps 
Guiana.  ^^^   ^|jg   instigation    of   his    new    favourite    George 

Villiers,   afterwards   Duke   of   Buckingham,  who   anticipated 


SIR  WALTER   RALEGH  149 

profit  from  his  complacence.  Ralegh  was  released  from  the 
Tower  after  thirteen  years'  imprisonment  (IQth  March  l6l6), 
on  the  condition  that  he  should  make  a  new  voyage  to  Guiana 
and  secure  the  country's  gold  mines.  H  first  Ralegh  was 
ordered  to  live  at  his  own  house  in  the  custody  of  a  keeper, 
but  this  restriction  was  removed  next  year  and  he  was  at 
liberty  to  make  his  preparations  as  he  would. 

Ralegh  was   sixty-five   years   old,   and   although   his    spirit 
mounted  high  his  health  was  breaking.     Out  of  prison,  he 
was   a   desolate   old  man   without   means   or   friends.      There 
was  no  possibility  of  his  planning  to  a  successful  issue  a  new 
quest  of  El  Dorado.     The  project  had  to  reckon,  too,  with 
powerful  foes  and  critics.     When  the  news  of  his  expedition 
reached  the  ears  of  the  Spanish  Ambassador  in  London,  he 
protested  that  all  Guiana  was  his  master's  prop-    Spanish 
erty,  and  that  Ralegh  had  no   right  to  approach    Protests. 
it.     It  was  objected  that  Ralegh's  design  was  a  vulgar  act 
of    piracy.      Ralegh    was    unmoved    by    the    argument.      He 
acknowledged   no   obligation   to   respect   the   scruples   of   on- 
lookers  at  home   or   abroad.      The   assurances   given  by   the 
government  that  he   would   peacefully  respect   all  rights   of 
Spanish   settlers   in   Guiana   floated   about   him   like   the   idle 

wind. 

All  that  Ralegh  said  or  did  when  preparing  to  leave  Eng- 
land increased  the  odds  against  him.  His  reputation  sank 
lower  and  lower.  Dangers  and  difficulties  only  rendered  his 
mood  more  desperate.     He  was,  like  Banquo's  murderer, 

'So  weaiy  with  disasters,  tugged  with  fortune, 
That  he  would  set  his  life  on  any  chance 
To  mend  it  or  be  rid  on  't.' 

Few  men  of  repute  would  bear  him  company.     He  cared  not 
who  went  with  him  provided  he  went  at  all.     It  was  an  ill- 


150  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

omened  crew  that  he  collected.  He  filled  his  ship  (he  after- 
wards admitted)  with  the  world's  scum,  with  drunkards  and 
blasphemers,  and  others  whose  friends  were  only  glad  to  pay 
money  to  get  them  out  of  the  country. 

At  length  he  started.  But  fortune  frowned  on  him  more 
fiercely  than  before.  The  weather  was  unpropitious.  He  had 
to  put  in  off  Cork.  At  length  he  weighed  anchor  for  South 
America,  but  on  the  voyage  fell  ill  of  a  fever.  Arrived  off 
the  river  Orinoco,  he  was  successful  in  an  attack  on  the  new 
Spanish  settlement  at  its  mouth  which  bore  the  name  of 
St.  Thome.  Careless  of  the  promises  solemnly  made  on  his 
behalf  by  his  government,  he  rudely  despoiled  it  and  set  fire 
to  it;  but  the  doubtful  triumph  cost  him  the  death  of  a 
companion  whom  he  could  ill  spare,  his  eldest  son,  Walter. 
Thenceforward  absolute  failure  dogged  his  steps.  His  at- 
tempt   to    ascend    the    river    was    quickly    defeated    by    the 

activity  of  the  new  Spanish  settlers.  Nothing 
Failure  ^  ^  ^ 

of  the  remained  for  him  but  to  return  home.     He  had 

expedition.       „,,.  ,         ,       ■,-,■,■,       ii.i        t    , 

failed  in  what  he  had  pledged  his  head  to  per- 
form; contrary  to  conditions  he  had  molested  the  Spanish 
settlement.  He  reached  Plymouth  in  despair.  An  attempt 
at  flight  to  France  failed,  and  he  was  sent  again  to  the 
Tower. 

One  fate  alone  awaited  him.  He  was  already  under 
sentence  of  death.  By  embroiling  his  country  anew  with 
Disgrace  Spain,  he  was  held  to  have  revived  his  old  offence, 
and  death.  rpj^^  English  judges  declared,  harshly  and  with 
doubtful  justice,  that  the  old  sentence  must  be  carried  out. 
The  circumstance  that  *  he  never  had  his  pardon  for  his 
former  treason  '  was  treated  as  argument  which  there  was  no 
controverting.  Accordingly,  on  Wednesday  28th  October 
161 8,  the  ruined  man  was  brought  from  the  Tower  to  the 
bar  of  the  King's  Bench.     He  was  asked  by  the  Lord  Chief 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  151 

Justice  why  he  should  not  suffer  '  execution  of  death/  accord- 
ing to  the  judgment  of  death  *  for  his  treason  in  the  first 
year  of  the  king.'  He  offered  protest  but  his  answer  was 
deemed  by  the  court  to  be  insufficient.  He  was  taken  back 
to  the  prison,  and  the  next  day  was  appointed  for  the  execu- 
tion of  the  old  sentence.  '  He  broke  his  fast  early  in  the 
morning/  according  to  a  contemporary  annalist,  and,  to  the 
scandal  of  many,  smoked  a  pipe  at  the  solemn  moment  '  in 
order  to  settle  his  spirits.'  At  eight  o'clock  he  was  conducted 
to  a  scaffold  erected  in  Palace  Yard,  Westminster,  outside 
the  Houses  of  Parliament. 

Ralegh  faced  death  boldly  and  without  complaining.  He 
talked  cheerfully  with  those  around  him  and  in  a  speech  to 
the  spectators  thanked  God  that  he  was  allowed  '  to  die  in 
the  light.'  Speaking  from  written  notes  he  traversed  the 
various  imputations  that  had  been  laid  upon  him,  and  con- 
cluded with  the  words,  *  I  have  a  long  journey  to  take  and 
must  bid  the  company  farewell.*  As  his  fingers  felt  the 
edge  of  the  axe,  he  smilingly  said  to  the  sheriffs :  *  This 
is  a  sharp  medicine  but  it  is  a  sure  cure  for  all  diseases.' 
Then  he  bade  the  reluctant  executioner  strike,  and  at  two 
blows  his  head  fell  from  his  body. 

*  After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well.'  The  night  before 
he  ascended  the  scaffold  he  had  penned  the  simple  lines: 

'Even  such  is  time,  that  takes  in  trust 
Our  youth,  our  joys,  our  all  we  have, 
And  pays  us  but  with  earth  and  dust; 
Who,  in  the  dark  and  silent  grave 

When  we  have  wandered  all  our  ways, 
Shuts  up  the  story  of  our  days. 
But  from  this  earth,  this  grave,  this  dust, 
My  God  shall  raise  me  up  I  trust.* 


152  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

He  gave  death  welcome  when  it  arrived  to  claim  him  in 
the  same  philosophic  spirit  that  he  had  apostrophised  it  a 
few  years  earlier,  putting  on  the  finishing  stroke  to  his 
History  of  the  World: — *  O  eloquent,  just,  and  mighty 
Death!  .  .  .  thou  hast  drawn  together  all  the  far  stretched 
greatness,  all  the  pride,  cruelty,  and  ambition  of  man,  and 
covered  it  all  over  with  these  two  narrow  words — Hie  jaeet! ' 

XII 

Ralegh's  final  labour  is  the  least  admirable  episode  of  his 
career.  It  was  a  buccaneering  raid,  and  admits  of  no  eulogy. 
The  con-  ^^^^  after  we  make  allowance  for  the  strange  cir- 
estimate^f  cumstances  in  which  it  was  undertaken  and  suffer 
Ralegh.  ^^^^  ^^  temper  condemnation.     It  was  a  desperate 

bid  for  his  personal  freedom.  But  his  failure  was  punished 
with  tragic  injustice.  His  fate  excited  widespread  lamenta- 
tion. The  facts  seemed  to  the  casual  observer  to  be  capable 
of  more  than  one  interpretation.  His  memory  was  long 
venerated  as  that  of  a  man  who  sacrificed  his  life  in  an 
honest,  public-spirited,  magnanimous  endeavour  to  injure  his 
country's  foes. 

Ralegh's  character  is  an  inextricable  tangle  of  good  and 
evil.  *  What  matter  how  the  head  lie ! '  he  had  said  when 
placing  his  neck  on  the  block.  *  What  matter  how  the  head 
lie  so  the  heart  be  right  ?  '  Many  of  his  countrymen  deemed 
those  words  his  fitting  epitaph.  But  neither  Ralegh's  heart 
The  good  i^^r  head  was  often  quite  in  a  righteous  posture, 
in  his^  -^^  w^  physically  as  courageous,  intellectually  as 

character.  resourceful  and  versatile,  as  any  man  known  to 
history.  He  was  a  daring  politician,  soldier,  sailor,  traveller, 
and  coloniser.  He  was  a  poet  of  exuberant  fancy,  a  historian 
of  solid  industry  and  insight,  and  a  political  philosopher  of 
depth.     He  ranks  with  the  great  writers  of  English  prose. 


SIR   WALTER   RALEGH  15S 

Things  of  the  mind  appealed  to  him  equally  with  things  of 
the  senses  or  the  sinews.  Many  serious-minded  men  treated 
his  History  of  the  World  with  hardly  less  respect  and  venera- 
tion than  the  Bible  itself,  and  it  was  sedulously  pressed  in  the 
seventeenth  century  on  the  attention  of  young  men,  whose 
minds  lacked  power  of  application,  as  mental  ballast  of  the 
finest  quality.^  Yet  it  was  mental  ballast  which  Ralegh's 
own  character  chiefly  lacked.  His  manifold  activity  declined 
restraint.  He  rebelled  against  law.  His  actions  were  heed- 
less of  morality.  He  was  proud,  covetous,  and  unscrupulous. 
Yet  the  influence  of  his  inevitable  failures  was  greater 
than  that  of  most  men's  successes.  The  main  failure  of  his 
life  was  more  fruitful  than  any  ordinary  triumph.  His  failure 
His  passion  for  colonial  expansion,  for  the  settle-  and  success, 
ment  of  America  by  Englishmen,  lost  in  course  of  time 
almost  every  trace  of  the  idealism  in  which  it  took  rise. 
Exaggerated  hopes  of  gain,  a  swollen  spirit  of  aggressive- 
ness, ultimately  robbed  his  endeavours  of  true  titles  to 
respect.  His  final  eff*ort  led  to  little  apparent  result  beyond 
the  loss  of  his  own  head;  his  fellow-countrymen  never  gained 
the  mastery  of  South  America;  they  never  obtained  exclusive 
possession  of  its  mines,  the  desperate  cause  in  which  Ralegh 
flung  away  his  life.  None  the  less  the  spur  that  his  appar- 
ently barren  and  ill-conceived  exploits  gave  to  English  col- 
onising   cannot   be    overestimated.      All    over    the 

*  The  true 

world    Englishmen    subsequently    worked    in    his     founder 

of  Virginia, 
spirit.        But  it  is  his  primary  attempt  to  create 

a    new    England    in    the    Northern    Continent    of    America 

^  Cromwell  the  Protector  when  he  found  his  eldest  son  Richard  wasting  his 
time  and  energy  in  athletic  pastime  bade  him  recreate  himself  with  Sir 
Walter  Ralegh's  history.  There  was  advantage,  Cromwell  deemed,  in  the 
work's  massive  proportions ;  '  it's  a  body  of  history '  Cromwell  told  his  heir, 
'and  will  add  much  more  to  your  understanding  than  fragments  of  story.! 
Carlyle's  Letters  and  Speeches  of  Cromwell,  ii.  255. 


154  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

which  gives  him  his  genuine  credentials  to  fame.  It  was 
an  attempt  on  which  he  lavished  his  fortune  in  the  spirit  of  a 
dreamer,  and  at  the  time  it  seemed,  like  so  much  that  Ralegh 
sought  to  do,  to  be  made  in  vain.  Yet  it  was  mainly  due  to  his 
influence,  if  not  to  the  work  of  his  hands,  that  the  great  Eng- 
lish settlements  of  Virginia  and  New  England  came  into  being, 
and  gave  religious  and  political  liberty,  spiritual  and  intellect- 
ual energy,  a  new  home,  a  new  scope,  wherein  to  develop  to 
the  advantage  of  the  human  race.  However  sternly  the  moral- 
ist may  condemn  Ralegh's  conduct  in  the  great  crises  of  his 
career,  he  must,  in  justice,  admit  that  the  good  that  Ralegh 
did  lives  after  him,  while  the  evil  was  for  the  most  part 
buried  with  his  bones.  Dark  shadows  envelop  much  of  his 
life  and  death,  but  there  are  patches  of  light  which  are 
inextinguishable. 


Edmund  Spenser. 

From  the  portrait  in  the  possession  of  the  Earl  of  Kinnoull  at  Dupplin  Castle. 


EDMUND   SPENSER 

*A  sweeter  swan  than  ever  sang  in  Po, 
A  shriller  nightingale  than  ever  blessed 
The  prouder  groves  of  self  admiring  Rome! 
Blithe  was  each  valley,  and  each  shepherd  proud. 
While  he  did  chant  his  rural  minstrelsy; 
Attentive  was  full  many  a  dainty  ear; 
Nay,  hearers  hung  upon  his  melting  tongue. 
While  sweetly  of  his  Faerie  Queene  he  sung, 
While  to  the  waters'  fall  he  tun'd  her  fame.' 

The  Return  from  Parnassus,  Part  II.  Act  i.  Sc.  2. 

[Bibliography. — The  memoir  by  Dean  Church  in  the  'Men  of 
Letters'  Series  is  a  useful  critical  biography  in  brief  compass. 
The  '  Globe'  edition  of  the  poet's  work,  with  an  introductory 
memoir  by  Prof.  J.  W.  Hales,  supplies  a  good  text.  Of  the  ten 
volumes  of  Dr.  Grosart's  privately  printed  edition  of  the  works 
(1880-2),  the  first  volume  is  devoted  to  biography  by  the  gen- 
eral editor,  and  to  critical  essays  from  many  competent  pens. 
Of  earlier  critical  editions  of  Spenser  the  chief  is  that  by  Henry 
John  Todd,  which  was  issued  in  eight  volumes  in  1805.  A 
good  criticism  of  Spenser  appears  in  James  Russell  Lowell's 
Essays  on  the  English  Poets.] 


Literature   was   a  recreation   of  all  men   of  spirit  in  the 
Elizabethan    age.      It    mattered    little    whether    or    no    they 
were  heirs  of  great  genius.     Literature  was  almost    ^j^g  EHza- 
universally  the  occupation  of  such  leisure  as  could    ^^^^^^ 
be  snatched  from  the  practical  affairs  of  the  world.    Poetry. 
Statesmen  and  soldiers,  in  their  hours  of  ease,  courted  the 
Muses  with  assiduity.     These  damsels  might  discourage  their 
advances,  but  the   suitors   were   persistent.      Poetry  was   the 

155 


156  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

politest  of  recreations ;  verses  were  delightful  *  toys  to  busy 
idle  brains.'  Queen  Elizabeth  and  her  successor  James  i.  are 
of  the  number  of  English  authors  in  both  poetry  and  prose. 
*  To  evaporate  their  thoughts  in  a  sonnet/  was  *  the  common 
way '  of  almost  all  nobles  and  courtiers,  who  concentrated 
their  main  energies  on  sport,  politics,  and  war.  At  the  same 
time  the  professional  pursuit  of  letters — the  writing  of  books 
for  money,  the  reliance  on  the  pen  for  a  livelihood — was  held 
to  be  degrading.  Literature  was  not  reckoned  to  be  in  any 
sense  a  profession  fit  for  a  man  of  high  birth  to  follow.  It 
was  the  gorgeous  ornament  or  plaything  of  life,  and  no 
approved  source  of  its  sustenance. 

Not  that  literary  work  failed  on  occasion  to  prove  remun- 
erative. From  one  branch  of  Elizabethan  literature — from 
Profits  of  *^^  drama — there  were  dazzling  profits  to  be 
literature.  drawn.  An  inevitable  measure  of  social  prestige 
attached  in  the  Elizabethan,  no  less  than  in  other  eras,  to 
substantial  property;  yet  to  property  that  was  derived  from 
the  exercise  of  the  pen  social  prestige  could  only  attach 
in  Elizabethan  society,  after  the  owner  had  ceased  to  write 
for  a  living.  Shakespeare  bore  convincing  testimony  to  the 
strength  of  the  prevailing  mistrust  of  any  professional  pursuit 
of  letters  by  retiring,  at  a  comparatively  early  age,  from 
active  work,  in  order  to  enjoy,  unhampered  by  the  conven- 
tional prejudice,  the  material  fruits  of  his  past  energy. 

A  poet  by  nature,  of  intensely  aesthetic  instinct,  Spenser 
lacked  inherited  sources  of  livelihood;  but  the  social  senti- 
Spenser's  ment  of  the  era  compelled  him  to  seek  a  career 
career.  elsewhere  than  in  literature.     In  a  far  larger  and 

higher  sense  than  his  friends  Sir  Philip  Sidney  or  Sir  Walter 
Ralegh  he  was  a  favoured  servant  of  the  Muses.  But  he  no 
more  than  they  reckoned  poetry  to  be  his  practical  concern 
in   life.      Political   service,    endeavour    to    gain    remunerative 


EDMUND    SPENSER  157 

political  office,  coloured  his  career  as  it  coloured  theirs.  He 
knew  the  vanity  of  political  ambitions.  But  opportunities  of 
quiet  contemplation  apart  from  the  haunts  of  politicians, 
opportunities  for  cultivating  in  seclusion  his  great  literary 
genius,  were  not  what  he  asked  of  those  who  had  it  in  their 
power  to  fashion  his  line  of  life.  Unlike  his  great  successor 
Tennyson,  with  whom  his  affinities  are  many,  he  deliberately 
engaged  in  business  which  lay  outside  Parnassian  fields.  He 
sought  with  zeal  and  persistency  political  employment  and 
official  promotion. 

As  an  officer  of  state,  Spenser  achieved  small  repute  or 
reward.  The  record  of  his  worldly  struggles  is  sordid  and 
insignificant.  Often,  amid  the  entanglements  and  The  con- 
disappointments  of  political  strife,  did  he  give  hirpoetic^ 
voice  to  that  cry  of  the  Psalmist,  which  his  con-  ^^^^• 
temporary,  Francis  Bacon,  pathetically  echoed,  that  his  life 
was  passed  in  a  strange  land.  It  was  only  as  a  poet  that  he 
won  happiness  or  renown.  It  is  only  as  supreme  poet  of 
the  English  Renaissance  that  he  lives.  Imbued  from  boyhood 
with  the  spirit  of  the  new  learning,  he  was  in  rarest  sympathy 
with  the  classics,  and  with  the  literature  of  contemporary 
Italy  and  France.  An  innate  delight  in  the  harmonies  of 
language  grew  with  his  years.  A  passion  for  beauty  domi- 
nated his  thought.  Although  he  was  brought  up  in  the  new 
religion  of  Protestantism  and  accepted  it  without  demur, 
doctrinal  religion  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  intellect.  It 
was  in  an  ideal  world  that  he  found  the  objects  of  his  worship. 
None  the  less,  in  order  to  realise  the  manner  of  man  Spenser 
was,  and  the  sturdy  links  which  bound  him  to  his  age,  his  vain 
political  endeavours  must  find  on  the  biographer's  canvas 
hardly  a  smaller  place  than  his  splendid  poetic  triumphs. 


158  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


II 

Spenser,  who  ranks  second  to  Shakespeare  among  Eliza- 
bethan poets,  was  a  native  of  London.  Like  Sir  Thomas 
His  humble  More,  he  was  a  native  of  the  capital  city  of  the 
birth.  kingdom,    but    he    came    of    a   substantial    family 

whose  home  was  elsewhere,  in  Lancashire.  He  was  a  distant 
relative  of  the  noble  house  of  Spencer,  many  members  of 
which  have  played  an  important  part  in  English  political 
history.  But,  however  good  Spenser's  descent,  his  father 
was  a  London  tradesman,  a  journeyman  cloth-maker  who 
was  at  one  time  in  the  service  of  a  wool-dealer. 

The  poet  was  born,  probably  in  1552 — the  year  of  Ralegh's 
birth — in  East  Smithfield.  About  his  birthplace  there 
His  birth-  glowed  in  his  infancy  the  fires  of  religious  intol- 
place.  erance — intolerance  of  that  blind  and  inconsequent 

type  which  first  won  Sir  Thomas  More's  allegiance,  and  then 
shifting  the  quarter  from  which  it  blew,  drove  him  to  the 
scaffold. 

But  when  Spenser  was  six  years  of  age,  the  sway  of  un- 
reason was  brought  to  a  stand.     The  fanatic  Catholic,  Queen 

Mary,    died,    and    with    the    accession    of    Queen 
v^ueeQ 

Elizabeth's     Elizabeth  to  the  throne,  the  spirit  of  the  nation 


found  a  practicable  equilibrium.  Protestantism 
with  a  promise  of  peace  was  in  the  ascendant;  Catholi- 
cism, although  by  no  means  exorcised,  was  not  in  a 
position  to  pursue  open  hostilities.  Another  six  years 
passed,  and  while  the  nation  was  enjoying  its  first  taste  of 
security,  Shakespeare  was  born.  But  the  interval  which 
separated  Shakespeare  from  Spenser  was  wider  than  that 
difference  of  twelve  years  in  their  dates  of  birth  suggests. 
Shakespeare  belonged  exclusively  to  Elizabethan  England, 
which    saw    the    final    development    of    Renaissance    culture. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  159 

Spenser's  memory  reached  further  back  and  absorbed  many 
an  ideal  and  thought  which  were  nearly  obsolete  when 
Shakespeare  began  to  write.  The  mass  of  Shakespeare's 
work  belongs  to  the  epoch  which  followed  Spenser's 
death.  Spenser's  elder  genius  flowered  and  passed  away 
before  Shakespeare's  younger  genius  was  of  full  age. 

But  the  two  men's  outward  careers  ran  at  the  first  on  much 
the  same  lines.  There  was  a  strong  resemblance  between 
the  circumstances  of  Spenser's  boyhood  and  of  gpenser's 
Shakespeare's,  which  it  behoves  sceptics  of  the  yo^*^- 
admitted  facts  of  Shakespeare's  biography  to  study  closely. 
In  spite  of  the  claim  of  Spenser's  father  to  high  descent,  his 
walk  in  life  was  similar  to  that  of  Shakespeare's  father. 
Better  educational  opportunities  were  open  to  a  tradesman's 
son  in  London  than  to  a  tradesman's  son  in  a  small  village, 
but  their  superiority  is  easily  capable  of  exaggeration.  The 
trade  or  guild  of  merchant  tailors,  with  which  the  elder 
Spenser  was  distantly  connected,  had  lately  founded  a  new 
school  in  London — the  Merchant  Taylors'  School  for  sons  of 
tailors.  To  that  school,  which  still  flourishes,  Edmund  Spen- 
ser was  sent  as  a  boy,  under  very  like  conditions  to  those 
which  brought  Shakespeare  to  the  grammar  school  of  Strat- 
ford-on-Avon. 

Spenser's  headmaster  was  an  enlightened  teacher,  Richard 
Mulcaster,  who   believed  in  physical   as   well  as   intellectual 
training;  who  thought  girls  deserved  as  good  an    ^t 
education  as  boys;  who  urged  the  importance  of    Xaylore^ 
instruction  in  music  and  singing;  and  who  turned    School. 
a  deaf  ear  to  the  prayers  of  cockering  mothers  and  indulgent 
fathers  when  appeal  was  made  to  him  to  mitigate  the  punish- 
ment of  pupils.     Spenser's  headmaster  had  imbibed  the  spirit 
of  pedagogy  as  Plato  first  taught  it,  and  More  and  Ascham 
had  developed  it  in  the  light  of  the  Renaissance.     But  the 


160  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

elder  Spenser  was  not  well  off,  and  no  special  attention  was 
paid  his  son.  The  boy's  school-days  threatened  to  be  short. 
Happily  a  merchant  had  lately  left  large  sums  of  money 
to  be  bestowed  on  poor  London  scholars — poor  scholars  of 
the  schools  about  London — and  under  this  benefaction  Ed- 
mund received  much-needed  assistance.  Such  charities  as  that 
by  which  Spenser  benefited  were  numerous  in  Elizabethan 
England,  and  charitable  funds  were  largely  applied  to  the 
noble  purpose  of  assisting  poor  lads  to  complete  their  educa- 
tion. What  American  merchants  are  doing  now  for  education 
in  their  country  more  conspicuously  than  elsewhere,  Eliza- 
bethan merchants  were  doing  for  education  in  Elizabethan 
England.  It  was  owing  to  this  enlightened  application  of 
wealth  that  Spenser  was  enabled  to  finish  his  school  career. 

Promising  boys  of  Elizabethan  England,  whether  rich  or 
poor,  were  encouraged  to  pursue  their  studies  at  the  Univer- 
AtCam-  sities  on  leaving  school,  even  if  their  parents 
bndge.  could  not  supply  them  with  means  of  subsistence. 

The  college  endowments  would  carry  a  poor  student  through 
the  greater  part  of  an  academic  career,  and  might  at  need  be 
supplemented  by  private  munificence.  Spenser  went  to  Cam- 
bridge— to  Pembroke  Hall  (or  College) — trusting  for 
pecuniary  support  to  the  college  endowments.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  enter  the  College  in  the  lowest  rank,  the  rank  of 
a  sizar.  Sizars  were  indigent  students  who,  in  consideration 
of  their  poverty  and  in  exchange  for  menial  service,  were 
given  food,  drink,  and  lodging. 

At  Pembroke  Spenser  foimd  congenial  society.  The 
college  had  not  yet  acquired  its  literary  traditions.  It  was 
long  afterwards  that  it  became  the  home  of  the  poet 
Crashaw,  and  later  still  of  the  poet  Gray.  Spenser  himself 
was  the  first  poet,  alike  in  point  of  time  and  of  eminence, 
to  associate  his  name  with  the  foundation.     But  to  contem- 


EDMUND    SPENSER  161 

porary  members  of  the  college  he  owed  much.  A  yomig 
Fellow  of  the  College^  Gabriel  Harvey,  an  ardent  but  pedan- 
tic student  of  literature,  took  deep  interest  in  him  Gabriel 
and  greatly  influenced  his  literary  tastes.  Harvey  Harvey, 
reinforced  in  his  pupil  a  passion  for  classical  learning,  which 
the  boy  had  acquired  at  school,  and  encouraged  him  to  pursue 
a  study  of  French  and  Italian  literature,  to  which  on  his 
own  initiative  he  had  already  devoted  his  leisure.  A  young 
fellow-sizar,  Edward  Kirke,  also  became  a  warm  admirer 
and  stimulating  friend. 

From  a  lad  Spenser  was  a  close  student  and  a  wide 
reader,  and  gave  early  promise  of  poetic  eminence.  He  was 
attracted  not  merely  by  the  classics,  the  orthodox  jj-g  earliest 
subject  of  study  at  school  and  college,  but  by  "^^^s^- 
French  and  Italian  literature.  Almost  as  a  school-boy  he 
began  to  translate  into  English  the  poetry  of  France.  Before 
he  went  to  Cambridge  he  prepared  for  a  London  publisher 
metrical  translations  of  poems  by  Du  Bellay,  a  scholarly 
spirit  of  the  Renaissance  in  France,  and  he  also  rendered  into 
seven  English  sonnets  an  ode  of  Petrarch,  the  great  Italian 
master  of  the  sonnet,  from  the  version  of  the  early  French 
poet  Clement  Marot.  It  was  through  his  knowledge  of 
French  that  the  gate  to  the  vast  and  varied  literature  of  Italy 
opened  to  him.  Both  Petrarch's  and  Du  Bellay's  verses 
described  the  uncertainties  of  human  life  and  the  fickleness 
of  human  fortune.  Spenser's  renderings  were  merely  inserted 
by  an  indulgent  publisher  as  letter-press  to  be  attached  to  old 
woodcuts  in  his  possession.  Letter-press  is  a  humiliating  posi- 
tion for  literature  to  fill,  but  the  youth  was  content  to  get  his 
first  poetic  endeavours  into  type  in  any  conditions.  Spenser's 
ambition  at  the  time  was  satisfied  when  a  tedious  Dutch  trea- 
tise of  morality  appeared  in  English  with  his  earliest  poems 
irrelevantly  introduced  as  explanations  of  the  pictorial  illus- 

L 


162  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

trations  that  adorned  the  opening  pages.  The  musical  temper 
of  Spenser's  boyish  verse  augured  well  for  a  future,  but  no 
critic  at  the  time  discerned  its  potentiality. 

While  an  undergraduate  Spenser  suffered  alike  from 
poverty  and  ill-health.  Small  sums  of  money  were  granted 
His  love  for  *^  ^^^  ^^  ^  P^^  scholar  from  the  old  bequest 
Cambridge,  ^j^j^^jj  had  benefited  him  at  school,  and  he  was 
often  disabled  by  sickness.  He  remained  however  at  Cam- 
bridge for  the  exceptionally  long  period  of  seven  years.  He 
took  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  in  1576,  and  then  left  the 
University.  He  always  speaks  of  Cambridge — of  '  my  mother 
Cambridge ' — with  respect.  He  wrote  in  a  well-known  pas- 
sage of  the  Faerie  Queene  how  the  River  Ouse  which  runs 
near  Cambridge 

*doth  by  Huntingdon  and  Cambridge  flit, — 
My  mother  Cambridge,  whom  as  with  a  crown 
He  [i.e.  the  river]  doth  adorn  and  is  adom'd  of  it 
With  many  a  gentle  muse  and  many  a  learned  wit.'* 

Spenser  was  himself  in  due  time  to  adorn  his  Alma  Mater 
*  as  with  a  crown  '  by  virtue  of  his  *  gentle  muse  *  and  *  learned 
wit/ 

III 

When  Spenser's  Cambridge  life  closed,  he  was  no  less 
than  twenty-four  years  old.     That  was  a  mature  age  in  those 

days  for  a  man  to  be  entering  on  a  career,  and 
Disappoint- 

ment  in  even   then,    owing   to   his    feeble   constitution,    he 

love. 

seems  to  have  been  in  no  haste  to  seek  a  settle- 
ment. The  omens  were  none  too  favourable.  In  poor  health, 
without  money  or  prospects,  he  apparently  idled  away  another 
year  with  his  kinsfolk,  his  cousins,  in   Lancashire.     There, 

*  Faerie  Queene,  Bk.  iv.,  canto  xi.,  stanza  xxxiv. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  163 

having  nothing  better  to  do,  he  fell  in  love.  The  object  of 
his  affections  was,  we  are  told,  a  gentlewoman,  of  no  mean 
house,  '  endowed  with  no  vulgar  or  common  gifts  of  nature 
or  manners.'  But  the  lady  disdained  the  poet's  suit,  and  he 
sought  consolation  in  verse.  Antiquaries  have  tried  to  dis- 
cover the  precise  name  of  the  lady,  but,  beyond  the  fact 
that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  Lancashire  yeoman,  nothing 
more  needs  saying  of  her. 

Spenser's  failure  in  his  amorous  adventure  was,  despite 
the  passing  grief  it  caused  him,  beneficial.  It  stirred  him 
to  fresh  exertions  alike  in  poetry  and  the  affairs  Settlement 
of  the  world.  He  resolved  to  seek  in  London  i^  London. 
greater  happiness  than  Lancashire  offered  him,  and  the  means 
of  earning  an  honourable  livelihood.  Gabriel  Harvey,  his 
Cambridge  friend,  strongly  urged  on  him  the  prudence  of 
seeking  employment  in  the  capital.  Harvey  prided  himself 
on  his  influence  in  high  circles.  His  activity  at  Cambridge 
made  him  known  to  all  visitors  of  distinction  to  the  Univer- 
sity. He  knew  the  Queen's  favourite,  the  Earl  of  Leicester, 
the  uncle  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who  had  it  in  his  power  to  ad- 
vance any  aspirant  to  fortune.  To  Leicester  Harvey  gave 
Spenser  an  introduction.  That  introduction  proved  the  true 
starting-point  of  Spenser's  adult  career. 

Like  all  Queen  Elizabeth's  courtiers  Leicester  had  literary 

tastes.      He   was    favourably   impressed   by   the   young   poet 

and   offered   him    secretarial   employment.      Spen-    _ 

^     •^  ^  Thepatron- 

ser's  duties  required  him  to  live  at  Leicester  House,    age  of 

Leicester. 
the  Earl's  great  London  mansion.  Literary  sym- 
pathies overcame,  in  Elizabethan  England,  class  distinctions, 
and  Spenser — the  impecunious  tailor's  son — was  suddenly 
thrown  into  close  relations  with  fashionable  London  society. 
Many  poor  young  men  of  ability  and  character  owed  all  their 
opportunities  in  life  to  wealthy  noblemen  of  the  day.     The 


164  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

friendly  union  between  patron  and  poet  often  bred  strong 
mutual  affection  and  was  held  to  confer  honour  on  both. 
Spenser's  relations  with  Leicester  were  of  the  typical  kind. 
They  were  easy,  amiable.  The  poet  felt  pride  in  the  help 
and  favour  that  the  Earl  bestowed  on  him,  although  he  was 
not  backward  in  pressing  his  claims  to  preferment.  Spenser 
describes  with  ungrudging  admiration  Leicester's  influential 
place  in  the  State  as 

*A  mighty  prince,  of  most  renowned  race, 
Whom  England  high  in  comit  of  honour  held, 
And  greatest  ones  did  sue  to  gain  his  grace; 
Of  greatest  ones  he  greatest  in  his  place, 
Sate  in  the  bosom  of  his  sovereign, 
And  "  Right  and  Loyal,"  did  his  word  maintain.*  * 

Referring  to  his  own  relations  with  his  patron,  he  exclaimed: 

*  And  who  so  else  did  goodness  by  him  gain  ? 
And  who  so  else  his  bounteous  mind  did  try  ? '  * 

Leicester  stands  to  Spenser  in  precisely  the  same  relation  as 
the  Earl  of  Southampton  stands  to  Shakespeare. 

Spenser  had  at  Leicester  House  much  leisure  for  study. 
He  wrote  poems  for  his  patron.  He  read  largely  for  him- 
Secretarial  ^^^^^  presenting  books  to  his  friend  Harvey,  who 
^°'*^-  sent  him  others  in  return.     But  his  office  was  no 

sinecure.  He  was  sent  abroad  in  behalf  of  his  patron,  usually 
as  the  bearer  of  despatches.  In  Leicester's  service  he  paid  a 
first  visit  to  Ireland,  and  went  on  official  errands  to  France, 
Spain,  and  Italy,  notably  to  Rome,  and  even  further  afield. 
Foreign  travel  nurtured  his  imagination,  and  widened  his 
knowledge  of  the  literary  efforts  of  French  and  Italian  con- 
temporaries. 

Spenser's   connection  with   Leicester  brought  him   the   ac- 

1  Ruines  of  Time,  11.  184-89.  . « Ibid.,  11.  232-33. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  165 

quaintance    of     a     more     attractive     personality — Leicester's 
fascinating  nephew,  Sir   Philip   Sidney.      The  ac-     sir  Philip 
quaintance  rapidly  ripened  into  a  deep  and  tender     Sidney, 
friendship,  and   exerted   an   excellent  influence,   morally   and 
intellectually,  on  both  young  men. 

Thus,  in  1579^  when  Spenser  was  about  twenty-seven 
years  old.  Fortune  seemed  to  smile  on  him.  He  mixed 
freely  with  courtiers  and  politicians,  and  was  in  Harvey's 
close  touch  with  all  that  was  most  enlightened  in  ^"^^ice. 
London  society.  Amid  such  environment  his  poetic  genius 
acquired  new  energy  and  confidence.  He  was  ambitious  to 
excel  in  all  forms  of  literary  composition,  and  he  was  in 
doubt  which  to  essay  first.  He  confided  his  perplexities  to 
his  friend  and  tutor  Harvey.  Harvey  was  a  pedantic  and 
shortsighted  counsellor.  He  was  no  wise  adviser  of  one 
endowed  with  great  original  genius  which  was  best  left  to  seek 
an  independent  course.  Harvey's  passion  for  the  classics, 
and  his  absorption  in  the  study  of  them,  distorted  his  judg- 
ment. English  poetry  was  in  his  mind  a  branch  of  classical 
scholarship.  Hitherto  the  art  of  poetry  had,  in  his  opinion, 
been  practised  to  best  advantage  by  Latin  writers.  Conse- 
quently, English  poetry,  were  it  to  attain  perfection,  ought 
to  imitate  Latin  verse,  alike  in  metre  and  ideas.  Harvey's 
theory  was  based  on  a  very  obvious  misconception.  Poetry 
can  only  flourish  if  it  be  free  to  adapt  itself  to  the  idiosyn- 
crasy of  the  poet's  mother-tongue.  Accent,  not  quantity,  is 
alone  adaptable  to  poetry  in  the  English  language.  English 
verse  which  ignores  such  considerations  cannot  reach  the 
poetic  level. 

Yet   for   a   time    Harvey's   views    prevailed   with    Spenser. 
He  defied  a  great  law  of  nature  and  of  art,  and     xheclassi- 
did   violence   to   his   bent,    in    order   to   essay   the     cal  fallacy. 
hopeless  task  of  naturalising  in  English  verse  metrical  rules 


166  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

which  the  English  language  rejects.  In  the  meetings  of  the 
literary  club  of  the  *  Areopagus  '  which  Leicester's  friends 
and  dependents  formed  at  Leicester  House,  Spenser,  Sidney, 
and  others  debated,  at  Harvey's  instance,  the  application 
to  English  poetry  of  the  classical  rules  of  metrical  quantity. 
Spenser  joined  the  company  in  making  many  experiments  in 
Latinised  English  verse,  a  few  of  which  survive.  The  result 
was  an  uncouth  sort  of  verbiage,  lumbering  or  wallowing  in 
harsh  obscurity.  Happily  Spenser  quickly  perceived  that 
no  human  power  could  fit  the  English  language  to  classical 
metres;  he  saw  the  weakness  of  the  pedantic  arguments. 
It  was  well  that  he  escaped  the  classicists'  toils.  It  was 
needful  that  he  should  deliberately  reject  false  notions  of 
English  verse  before  his  genius  could  gain  an  open  road. 

The  first  serious  poetic  efforts  that  Spenser  designed  in 
his  adult  years  are  lost,  if  they  were  ever  completed.  Soon 
Poetic  ex-  after  he  had  settled  at  Leicester  House,  Spenser 
penments.  ^^j^  j^jg  friends  he  was  penning  nine  comedies,  to 
be  called  after  the  nine  Muses,  in  the  manner  of  the  books  of 
Herodotus's  History.  An  account  of  his  patron's  family 
history  and  chief  ancestors  was  also  occupying  his  pen;  frag- 
ments of  this  design,  perhaps,  survive  in  the  elegy  on  his 
patron  which  he  subsequently  incorporated  in  his  Ruines  of 
Time.  He  seems  to  have  sketched  a  lost  prose  work  called 
The  English  Poet,  an  essay  on  literary  criticism,  which,  like 
Sidney's  Apologie  for  Poetrie,  was  intended  to  prove  poetry 
(so  a  friend  of  Spenser  reported)  to  be  *  a  divine  gift  and 
heavenly  instinct  not  to  be  gotten  by  labour  and  learning,  but 
adorned  with  both,  and  poured  into  the  wit  by  a  certain 
enthousiasmos  and  celestial  inspiration.'  ^  Spenser  having 
cut  himself  adrift  of  pedantic  classicism,  adopted  a  view  no 
less  exalted  than  that  of  Shelley  of  the  constituent  elements 
» Cf.  Argument  before  The  Shepheards  Calender,  Eclogue  x. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  167 

of  genuine  poetry.  Even  more  important  is  it  to  note  that 
Spenser  had  found  the  form  of  poetic  speech,,  at  this  early- 
epoch,  which  best  suited  his  ethical  and  artistic  temper.  His 
ambitious  allegorical  epic  or  moral  romance,  which  he  called 
the  Faerie  Queene,  dates  from  the  outset  of  his  literary  career. 
He  sent  some  portion  to  Harvey  as  early  as  the  autumn  of 
1579,  at  the  moment  when  he  was  recanting  his  tutor's  classi- 
cal heresy.  Harvey  was  naturally  not  impressed  by  a  project 
which  he  had  not  advised,  and  which  ignored  or  defied  his 
pedantic  principles  of  poetic  art.  The  design  was  in  Har- 
vey's eyes  an  unwarranted  innovation,  a  deflection  from  tried 
and  well-trodden  paths.  Spenser  was  not  encouraged  by 
Harvey  to  hurry  on.  The  discouragement  had  some  effect. 
Ten  years  elapsed  before  any  portion  of  the  poem  was  sent 
to  press.  Spenser  was  shy  and  sensitive  by  nature.  He 
could  not  ignore  critical  censure.  But  happily  other  friends, 
of  better  judgment  than  Harvey,  urged  him  to  persevere. 


rv 

Spenser's  ascent  of  Parnassus  was  not  greatly  prejudiced 

by    Harvey's    misleading   counsel.      Temporarily    abandoning 

the  Faerie  Queene,  he  turned  to  work  for  which     ^^^^^^ 

precedent  was  more  abundant.     He  completed  and    heards 
^  Calender. 

caused  to  be  printed,  before  the  close  of  1579 — 

a  year  very  eventful  in  his  career — a  poem  which  left  enlight- 
ened critics  in  no  doubt  of  his  powers. 

Spenser's  first  extant  poem  of  length,  which  he  called  The 
Shepheards  Calender,  consisted  of  twelve  dialogues     j^g  foreign 
or  eclogues  spoken  in  dialogue  by  shepherds,  one    °^° 
for   every   month   of  the   year.      The   design   of   the   volume 
followed    foreign    models    of    acknowledged    repute.      Greek 
pastoral  poetry  of  Theocritus  and  Bion  was  its  foundation, 


168  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN" 

modified  by  study  of  Virgirs  Eclogues  and  of  many  French 
and  Italian  examples  of  more  recent  date.  Mantuanus  and 
Sanazzaro  among  Italian  poets,  and  Clement  Marot  among 
Frenchmen,  commanded  Spenser's  full  allegiance.  The  title 
was  borrowed  from  an  English  translation  in  current  use 
of  a  popular  French  Almanac  known  as  Kalendrier  des 
Bergers,  and  the  debt  to  Marot's  French  eclogues  is  especi- 
ally large.  The  names  of  the  speakers  Thenot  and  Colin  are 
of  Marot's  invention,  and  in  two  of  the  eclogues  Spenser  con- 
fines himself  to  adaptation  of  Marot's  verse.  Everywhere 
he  gives  proof  of  reading  and  respect  for  authority.  His 
friends  freely  acknowledged  that  he  piously  *  followed  the 
footing '  of  the  excellent  poets  of  Greece,  Rome,  France,  and 
Italy. 

It  was  not  only  abroad  that  Spenser's  genius  sought 
sustenance.  Although  he  was  fascinated  by  the  varied 
charms  of  foreign  literary  eifort,  he  was  not  oblivious  of  the 
literary  achievement  of  his  own  country.  English  poetry 
had  not  of  late  progressed  at  the  same  rate  as  the  poetry  of 
Italy  or  France.  But  a  poetic  tradition  had  come  into  being 
in  fourteenth-century  England.  Spenser  was  attracted  by  it, 
and  he  believed  himself  capable  of  continuing  it.  He  was 
eager  to  enrol  himself  under  the  banner  of  the  greatest  of 
Eulogy  of  ^^^  English  predecessors,  of  Chaucer.  By  way  of 
Chaucer.  proving  the  sincerity  of  his  patriotic  allegiance,  he 
took  toll  openly  of  the  English  poet,  even  exaggerating  the 
extent  of  his  indebtedness.^  His  direct  eulogy  of  Chaucer 
under  the  name  of  Tityrus  is  a  splendid  declaration  of 
homage  on  the  yoimger  poet's  part  to  the  old  master  of 
English  poetry. 

^  In  Eclogue  ii.  (February)  Spenser  pretends  to  quote  from  Chaucer  the 
fable  of  the  oak  and  the  briar.  The  alleged  quotation  seems  to  be  entirely  of 
Spenser's  invention. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  169 

'The  God  of  Shepherds,  Tityrus,  is  dead. 
Who  taught  me  homely,  as  I  can,  to  make; 
He,  whilst  he  lived,  was  the  sovereign  head 
Of  shepherds  all  that  bene  with  love  ytake; 
Well  couth  he  wail  his  woes,  and  lightly  slake 
The  flames  which  love  within  his  heart  had  bred, 
And  tell  us  merry  tales  to  keep  us  wake. 
The  while  our  sheep  about  us  safely  fed. 

Now  dead  is  he,  and  lieth  wrapt  in  lead, 

(O !  why  should  death  on  him  such  outrage  show !) 

And  all  his  passing  skill  with  him  is  fled 

The  fame  whereof  doth  daily  greater  grow. 

But  if  on  me  some  Uttle  drops  would  flow 

Of  that  the  spring  was  in  his  learned  head, 

I  soon  would  leam  these  woods  to  wail  my  woe, 

And  teach  the  trees  their  trickling  tears  to  shed.'  * 

No  poem  of  supreme  worth  ever  crept  into  the  world  more 
modestly  or  made  larger  avowal  of  obligation  to  poetry  of  the 
past  than  The  Shepheards  Calender.  Spenser,  -pj^^  critical 
who  merely  claimed  to  be  trying  his  *  tender  apparatus, 
wings  *  in  strict  accord  with  precedent,  hesitated  to  announce 
himself  as  the  author.  The  book  was  inscribed  anonymously 
on  its  title-page  to  his  friend  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  and  in  a 
little  prefatory  poem  which  he  characteristically  signed  *  Im- 
merito,'  he  fitly  entitles  his  patron  *  the  president  of  noblesse 
and  chivalry.*  A  college  friend,  Edward  Kirke,  emphasised 
the  work's  dependence  on  the  ancient  ways  in  a  dedicatory 
epistle  to  the  scholar  Gabriel  Harvey;  and  the  same  hand 
liberally  scattered  through  the  volume  notes  and  glosses, 
which  emphasised  the  poet's  loans  from  the  accepted  masters 
of  his  craft.  Owing  to  Spenser's  anxiety  to  link  himself  to 
the  latest  period — remote  as  it  was — when  English  poetry 
had  conspicuously  flourished,  the  vocabulary  was  deliberately 

*  The  Shepheards  Calender,  June,  lines  81-96. 


170  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

archaic.  Foreign  examples  justified  such  procedure.  Kirke 
explained  that,  after  the  manner  of  the  Greek  pastoral  poets 
who  affected  the  rustic  Doric  dialect,  Spenser  *  laboured  to 
restore  as  to  their  rightful  heritage  such  good  and  natural 
English  words  as  had  been  long  time  out  of  use  and  clean 
disinherited.* 

Kirk's  sincere  enthusiasm  for  his  author  neutralises  the 
prejudice  which  lovers  of  poetry  commonly  cherish  against 
officious  editorial  comment.  He  justifies  his  intervention 
between  reader  and  author  on  the  somewhat  equivocal  ground 
that  although  Spenser  was  an  imitator,  his  imitations  were 
often  so  devised  that  only  '  such  as  were  (like  his  editor)  well 
scented '  in  the  hunt  after  foreign  originals  could  '  trace 
them  out.' 

But    the    range    of    topics    of    The    Shepheards    Calender 
suggests   to   the   least   observant   reader  that   there   is   exag- 
geration   in   the    editor's    repeated   denial   of   the 
The  topics.      °       ,  ^ 

poet's  ability  to  walk  alone  or  to  strike  out  new 

paths  for  himself.  Spenser  naturally  pursues  the  old  pas- 
toral roads  in  discoursing  of  the  pangs  of  despised  love  of 
which  he  had  had  his  own  experience,  of  the  woes  of  age  and 
of  the  joys  of  youth;  but  there  is  individuality  in  his  treat- 
ment of  the  well-worn  themes,  and  he  does  not  confine  him- 
self to  them.  In  his  contrasts  between  the  virtues  of  Protes- 
tantism and  the  vices  of  Popery  he  handles  problems  of 
theology  which  his  poetic  predecessors  had  not  essayed.  The 
interlocutors  are  the  poet  himself  and  his  friends  and  patron 
under  disguised  names,  and  he  does  not  repress  his  private 
sentiments  or  idiosyncrasies.  Of  his  personal  beliefs  he 
makes  impressive  confession  in  his  tenth  eclogue,  in  which 
he  '  complaineth  of  the  contempt  of  poetry  and  the  causes 
thereof.'  Theocritus  and  Mantuanus  had  already  condenmed 
monarchs  and  statesmen   for   failure  to  respect  the  votaries 


EDMUND    SPENSER  171 

of  *  peerless  poesy.'  Spenser  followed  in  their  wake,  but 
the  ardour  with  which  he  pleads  the  poet's  cause  is  his  own, 
and  the  argument  had  never  before  been  couched  in  finer 
harmonies. 

Despite  its  large  dependence  on  earlier  literary  effort,  the 
value  of  The  Shepheards  Calender  lies  ultimately  not  (as 
its  editor  would  have  us  believe)  in  the  dexterity  its  true 
of  its  adaptations,  but  in  the  proof  it  offers  of  '^^l^^- 
the  original  calibre  of  Spenser's  poetic  genius.  Historically 
important  as  it  is  for  the  student  and  critic  to  note  and  to 
define  what  a  poet  takes  from  others,  of  greater  importance 
is  it  for  them  to  note  and  to  define  what  a  poet  makes  of 
his  borrowings.  In  the  first  place.  The  Shepheards  Calender 
shows  a  faculty  for  musical  modulation  of  words,  of  which 
only  the  greatest  practisers  of  the  poetic  art  are  capable. 
It  is  a  peculiar  quality  of  Spenser's  power  to  manipulate 
the  metre  so  that  it  moves  as  the  sense  dictates,  now  slowly 
and  solemnly,  now  quickly  and  joyfully.  In  the  second  place, 
the  thought  is  clothed  in  a  picturesque  simplicity,  which  is 
the  fruit  of  the  poet's  personality.  The  life  and  truthfulness 
of  the  pictures  are  the  outcome  of  the  poet's  individual 
affinities  with  the  poetic  aspects  of  nature  and  humanity. 

Since  the  death  of  Chaucer  no  poet  of  a  distinction  similar 

to   that   of    Spenser   had   come   to    light    in    England.      The 

Shepheards  Calender  was  not  without  signs  of  im-    ^ 

^  °  Its  place 

maturity ;   the   melodies   of  the   verse   were   inter-    in  English 

poetry, 
rupted  by  awkward  dissonances  and  by  feeble  or 

discordant  phrases.  But  its  merits  far  outdistanced  its  de- 
fects and  it  worthily  inaugurated  a  new  era  of  English  poetry. 
It  proved  beyond  risk  of  denial  that  there  had  arisen  a  poet 
of  genius  fit  to  rank  above  rll  preceding  English  poets  save 
only  Chaucer,  who  died  nearly  two  centuries  before.  It  is  to 
the  credit  of  the  age  that  this  great  fact,  despite  editorial 


172  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

endeavours  to  disguise  it,  was  straightway  recognised.  '  He 
may  well  wear  the  garland  and  step  before  the  best  of  all 
English  poets  that  I  have  seen  or  heard/  wrote  one  early 
reader  of  The  Shepheards  Calender.  Drayton,  the  reputed 
friend  of  Shakespeare,  declared  that  '  Master  Edmund  Spen- 
ser had  done  enough  for  the  immortality  of  his  name  had 
he  only  given  us  his  The  Shepheards  Calender,  a  masterpiece 
if  any.'  Masterpieces  had  been  scarce  in  English  literature 
since  Chaucer  produced  his  Canterbury  Tales. 


Elizabethan  poetry  brought  its  makers  honourable  recog- 
nition, but  it  did  not  bring  them  pecuniary  reward.  Spenser 
The  poet's  ^^^  entered  Leicester's  service  in  order  to  obtain 
of^S^^'^  an  office  which  should  produce  a  regular  revenue, 
patron.  jgy^.^  ^^  ^.j^^  months  went  on,  Spenser  suffered  dis- 

appointment at  his  patron's  hands.  Leicester  was  not  as 
zealous  in  the  poet's  interest  as  the  poet  hoped.  The  services 
which  he  rendered  his  patron  seemed  to  him  to  be  inade- 
quately recognised.  He  expected  more  from  his  master  than 
board  and  lodging.  His  dissatisfaction  found  vent  in  a 
rendering  of  the  poem  called  '  Virgil's  Gnat.' 

'Wronged,  yet  not  daring  to  express  my  pain,* 

the  poet  dedicated  the  apologue  to  his  '  excellent '  lord  '  the 
causer  of  my  care.'  He  likened  himself  to  the  gnat,  which, 
in  the  poem,  rouses  a  sleeping  shepherd  to  repel  a  serpent's 
attack  by  stinging  his  eyelid,  and  then  is  thoughtlessly 
brushed  aside  and  slain  by  him  whom  the  insect  delivers  from 
peril. 

Spenser  probably  wrote  in  a  moment  of  temporary  annoy- 


EDMUND    SPENSER  173 

ance,  and  exaggerated  the  injury  done  him  by  the  Earl. 
Happily  a  change  of  fortune  was  at  hand,  and  his  irritation 
with  Leicester  passed  away.  Although  there  is  no  official 
reason  for  regarding  the  sequence  of  events  as  Promotion. 
other  than  an  accidental  coincidence,  it  was  within  six  months 
of  the  publication  of  The  Shepheards  Calender,  that  the 
poet  was  offered  a  remunerative  and  responsible  post.  He 
accepted  the  office  of  secretary  to  a  newly-appointed  Lord 
Deputy  of  Ireland,  and  the  course  of  his  life  was  completely 
changed. 

In  the  summer  of  1580  Spenser  left  England  practically 
for  good.  Though  he  thrice  revisited  his  native  land, 
Ireland  was  his  home  for  his  remaining  nineteen  Migration 
years  of  life.  At  the  outset  he  accepted  the  post  *«  Iceland, 
in  the  faith  that  it  would  prove  a  stepping-stone  to  high 
political  office  in  England.  Permanent  exile  he  never  con- 
templated with  complacency.  London  was  his  native  place 
and  the  seat  of  government,  and  it  was  his  ambition  to  enjoy 
there  profitable  and  dignified  employment.  But  this  was 
not  to  be,  and  as  his  prospect  of  preferment  grew  dim,  his 
spirit  engendered  an  irremovable  melancholy  and  discontent. 
He  bewailed  his  unhappy  fate  with  the  long-drawn  bitterness 
of  Ovid  among  the  Scythians.  He  declared  himself  to  be  a 
'  forlorn  wight  *  who  was  banished  to  a  *  waste,'  and  there 
was  *  quite  forgot.' 

Sixteenth-century  Ireland  had  few  attractions  for  an 
English  poet.  The  country  was  torn  asunder  by  internecine 
strife.  The  native  Irish  were  in  perpetual  revolt  The  Irish 
against  their  English  rulers.  The  Spaniards,  Problem. 
anxious  to  injure  England  at  every  point,  were  ready  to  fan 
Irish  disaffection,  and  were  always  threatening  to  send  ships 
and  men  to  encourage  active  rebellion.  The  air  was  infected 
by  barbarous  cruelty,  by  suffering  and  poverty.     To  Spen- 


174  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

ser's  gentle  and  beauty-loving  nature,  violence  and  pain  were 
abhorrent,  but  he  had  no  chance  of  escape  from  the  hateful 
environment,  and  familiarity  with  the  sordid  scenes  had  the 
natural  effect  of  dulling,  even  in  his  sensitive  brain,  the 
active  sense  of  repulsion  to  its  worst  evils.  Though  he  never 
reconciled  himself  to  the  conditions  of  Irish  life  or  govern- 
ment, and  vaguely  hoped  for  mitigation  of  their  horrors,  he 
assimilated  the  views  of  the  governing  class  to  which  he 
belonged,  and  became  an  advocate  of  the  coercion  of  the 
natives  to  whose  wrongs  he  gave  no  attentive  ear. 

Self-interest,   too,   insensibly   moulded   his   political   views. 

Having    entered    the    official    circle    in    Ireland,    he    eagerly 

sought    opportunities    of    improving    his    material 

friends  fortunes.     He  yearned  for  the  rewards  of  political 

in  Ireland. 

life  in   England,  but  he  came  to  realise  that  if 

those  prizes  were  beyond  his  reach,  he  must  accommodate 
himself  to  the  more  limited  scope  of  advancement  in  Ireland. 
There  he  met  with  moderate  success.  He  was  quickly  the 
recipient  of  many  profitable  posts  in  Dublin,  which  he  held 
together  with  his  secretaryship  to  the  Lord  Deputy.  He  was 
also  granted  much  land,  in  accordance  with  the  English 
policy,  which  encouraged  English  settlers  in  Ireland.  Hap- 
pily, there  was  some  worthier  mitigation  of  his  lot.  His 
official  colleagues  included  come  congenial  companions  whose 
sympathy  with  his  literary  ambitions  went  some  way  to 
counteract  the  griefs  of  his  Irish  experience.  In  Lord  Grey, 
his  Chief,  the  governor  of  the  country,  Spenser  found 
one  who  inspired  him  with  affection  and  respect.  To 
Lord  Grey's  nobility  of  nature  the  poet  paid  splendid 
tribute  in  his  description  of  Sir  Artegal,  the  knight  of 
justice  in  the  Faerie  Queene  (book  iv.  canto  ii.).  A  humbler 
colleague,  Lodowick  Bryskett,  was  a  zealous  lover  of  litera- 
ture;  he   occupied   a   little   cottage   near   Dublin,   and   often 


EDMUND    SPENSER  175 

invited  Spenser  and  others  to  engage  there  in  literary  debate. 
There  the  poet  talked  with  engaging  frankness  and  modesty 
of  his  literary  ambitions  and  plans. 

Spenser's  temperament  was  prone  to  seek  the  guidance 
and  countenance  of  others.  It  was  fortunate  that  Ireland 
did  not  withhold  from  him  the  encouragement  which  was 
needful  to  stimulate  poetic  exertion.  It  was  not  likely  that 
the  poetic  impulse  would  be  conquered  by  his  migration, 
but  in  the  absence  of  sympathetic  companions  its  activity 
would  doubtless  have  slackened,  and  he  would  have  wanted 
the  confidence  to  give  to  the  world  its  fruits.  As  things 
turned  out,  his  enthusiasm  for  his  art  increased  rather  than 
diminished  in  his  retirement.  Literary  composition  provided 
congenial  relief  from  the  routine  work  of  his  office.  At  the 
entreaty  of  his  friends,  he  took  up  again  his  great  work 
the  Faerie  Queene,  with  its  scene  laid  in  an  imag-  jjjg  poetic 
inary  fairyland,  to  which  the  poetic  humour  could  exertions. 
carry  him  from  any  point  of  the  earth's  surface.  At  the 
same  time  he  made  many  slighter  excursions  in  verse,  of 
which  the  most  beautiful  was  his  lament  for  the  premature 
death  of  his  friend  and  patron.  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  No 
sweeter  imagery  ever  adorned  an  elegy  than  that  to  be  met 
with  in  Spenser's  '  Astrophel,  a  pastorall  Elegie  upon  the 
death  of  the  most  noble  and  valorous  knight  Sir  Philip 
Sidney.'  His  brain  could  summon  at  will  ethereal  visions 
which  the  sordid  environment  of  his  Irish  career  could  neither 
erase  nor  blur.  He  was  no  careless  pleasure-seeking  official; 
he  did  his  official  work  thoroughly,  although  not  brilliantly. 
There  was  strange  contrast  between  the  poet's  official  duties 
and  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  aspirations  which  filled  hig 
brain  while  he  laboured  at  the  official  oar. 


176  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN. 


TI 

After  eight  years,  Spenser  left  Dublin  to  take  up  a  new 
and  more  dignified   post   in  the  south  of   Ireland.      He  was 

made  clerk  of  the  Council  of  Munster,  the  south- 
Removal  to 

the  south  ern  province,  a  prosaic  office  for  which  poetic 
of  Ireland.  .  n  i./>        .  tt  i 

genius   was    small   qualihcation.      He   took    active 

part  in  the  work  of  planting  or  colonising  with  Englishmen 
untenanted  land,  or  land  from  which  native  holders  were 
evicted.  Spenser  thought  it  perfectly  just  to  evict  the 
natives;  it  is  doubtful  if  he  saw  any  crime  in  exterminating 
them.  New  tracts  of  land  were  given  him  by  way  of  en- 
couragement in  the  neighbourhood  of  Cork.  He  took  up  his 
residence  in  the  old  castle  of  Kilcolman,  three  miles  from 
Doneraile,  in  County  Cork.  It  was  surrounded  by  woodland 
scenery,  and  the  prospect  was  as  soothing  to  the  human  brain 
as  any  that  a  poet  could  wish.  The  house  is  now  an  ivy- 
covered  ruin,  while  the  surrounding  scenery  has  gained  in 
fulness  and  in  richness  of  aspect. 

But  the  beauty  of  nature  brought  to   Spenser  in   Ireland 
little  content  or  happiness.      It  was   on   his  management   of 

'  the  world  of  living  men,'  not  on  a  placid  survey 
Quarrels 

with  of  '  wood  and  stream  and  field  and  hill  and  ocean 

neighbours.  tin  -i  iitt-lj 

that  his  material  welfare  depended.     He  had  not 

the  tact  and  social  diplomacy  needful  for  the  maintenance  of 
harmony  with  his  rude,  semi-civilised  neighbours.  With  the 
landlords  of  estates  contiguous  to  his  own  he  was  con- 
stantly engaged  in  litigation,  and  was  often  under  dread  of 
physical  conflict. 

Nevertheless,  one  source  of  relief  from  the  anxieties  and 
annoyances  of  official  life  was  present  in  County  Cork  as  in 


EDMUND    SPENSER  177 

County  Dublin.  Fortune  again  gave  him  a  companion  who 
could  offer  him  welcome  encouragement  in  the  practice  of  his 
poetic  art. 

WTien  Spenser  pitched  his  tent  in  the  south  of  Ireland, 
there  was  there  another  English  settler  who  was  notably 
imbued  with  literary  tastes  in  some  way  akin  to  sir  Walter 
his  own.  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  was  living  at  his  ^^^legh. 
house  on  the  Blackwater  in  temporary  retirement  from 
political  storms  across  the  Irish  Channel.  He  quickly  made 
his  way  to  Kilcolman  Castle.  Spenser  was  cheered  in  his 
desolation  by  a  visitor  whose  literary  enthusiasm  was  proof 
against  every  vicissitude  of  fortune.  With  Ralegh's  inspiring 
voice  ringing  in  his  ear,  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  progressed 
apace.  Spenser  recognised,  too,  Ralegh's  own  poetic  power, 
and  he  stirred  his  neighbour  to  address  himself  also  to  the 
Muse  in  friendly  rivalry.  Of  his  meetings  with  Ralegh  in 
the  fastnesses  of  Southern  Ireland,  and  of  their  poetic 
contests,  Spenser  wrote  with  simple  beauty  thus: — 

'A  strange  shepherd  chanced  to  find  me  out. 
Whether  allured  with  my  pipes  delight, 
Whose  pleasing  sound  yshrilled  far  about. 
Or  thither  led  by  chance,  I  know  not  right; 
Whom,  when  I  asked  from  what  place  he  came, 
And  how  he  hight,  himself  he  did  ycleepe 
The  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean  by  name. 
And  said  he  came  far  from  the  main-sea  deep. 
He,  sitting  me  beside  in  that  same  shade, 
Provoked  me  to  play  some  pleasant  fit; 
And  when  he  heard  the  music  which  I  made. 
He  found  himself  full  greatly  pleased  at  it: 
Yet  aemuling  ^  my  pipe,  he  took  in  bond 
My  pipe,  before  that  aemuled  ^  of  many, 

» rivalling.  ^  rivalled. 

M 


178  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

And  played  thereon;  (for  well  that  skill  he  cond); 

Himself  as  skilful  in  that  art  as  any. 

He  pip'd,  I  sung;  and,  when  he  sung,  I  piped; 

By  change  of  turns,  each  making  other  merry; 

Neither  envying  other,  nor  envied. 

So  piped  we  until  we  both  were  weary.'  * 

It  was  at  Ralegh's  persuasion  that  Spenser,  having  com- 
pleted three  books  of  his  Faerie  Queene,  took  the  resolve  to 
London  ^^^^*  London  once  more.     At  Ralegh's  persuasion 

revisited.  jjg  sought  to  arrange  for  the  publication  of  his 
ambitious  venture.  His  fame  as  author  of  The  Shepheards 
Calender  still  ran  high,  and  a  leader  of  the  publishing  frater- 
nity, William  Ponsonby,  was  eager  to  undertake  the  volume. 
The  negotiation  rapidly  issued  in  the  appearance  of  the  first 
three  books  of  Spenser's  epic  allegory  under  Ponsonby's 
auspices  early  in  1590. 

Ralegh,  to  whom  the  author  addressed  a  prefatory  letter 
*  expoimding  his  whole  intention  in  the  course  of  this  work,* 
had  filled  the  poet  with  hope  that  the  highest  power  in  the 
land,  the  Queen  herself,  *  whose  grace  was  great  and  bounty 
most  rewardful,*  would  interest  herself  in  so  noble  an  under- 
taking. With  the  loyalty  characteristic  of  the  time,  the  poet 
Itsdedica-  ^^^  made  his  virgin  sovereign  a  chief  heroine  of 
Queen  ^^^  poem.     To  her  accordingly  he  dedicated  the 

Ehzabeth.  -^^rork  in  words  of  dignified  brevity.  The  dedica- 
tion ran: — *  To  the  most  high,  mighty,  and  magnificent 
Empress,  renowned  for  piety,  virtue,  and  all  gracious  gov- 
ernment. .  .  .  Her  most  humble  servant,  Edmund  Spenser, 
doth  in  all  humility  dedicate,  present,  and  consecrate  these  his 
labours,  to  live  with  the  eternity  of  her  fame.*  But  it  was 
not  the  Queen  alone  among  great  personages  who  could,  if 
well  disposed,  benefit  his  material  fortunes  and  restore  him 

»  Colin  Clouts  come  home  againe,  11.  60-79. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  179 

in   permanence   to   his   native    English    soiL      The    poet   was 

urged  by  friendly  advisers  to  enlist  the  interest  of  all  leading 

men  and  women  in  his  undertaking.     In  seventeen  prefatory 

sonnets  he  saluted  as  a  suppliant  for  their  favour  as  many 

high  officers  or  ladies  of  the  Court. 

The   reception   accorded  to  the   first  published   instalment 

of  the  Faerie   Queene   gave   Spenser  no   ground   for  regret. 

Among  lovers  of  poetry  the  book  attained  instant    j^^^^p^-^^ 

success.       The    first    three    books    of    the    Faerie    of  the 

r  aerie 
Queene  dispelled  all  surviving  doubt  that  Spenser    Queene,^ 

was,   in   point   of   time,  the   greatest   poet    (alter 
Chaucer)  in  the  English  language;  and  there  were  many  who 
judged  the  later   poet  to  be  in  merit  the   equal  if  not  the 
superior  of  the  earlier. 

In  the  Faerie  Queene  Spenser  broke  new  ground.  It  was 
not  of  the  category  to  which  Spenser's  earlier  effort  The  Shep- 
heards  Calender  belonged.  Since  the  earlier  vol-  its  advance 
ume  appeared  more  than  ten  years  had  passed,  shephcards 
and  Spenser's  hand  had  grown  in  confidence  and  Calender. 
cunning.  His  thought  had  matured,  his  intellectual  interests 
had  grown,  till  they  embraced  well-nigh  the  whole  expanse 
of  human  endeavour.  His  genius,  his  poetic  capacity,  had 
now  ripened.  At  length  a  long-sustained  effort  of  exalted 
aim  lay  well  within  his  scope.  As  in  the  case  of  The  Shep- 
heards  Calender  Spenser  deprecated  originality  of  design. 
With  native  modesty  he  announced  on  the  threshold  his  disci- 
pleship  to  Homer  and  Virgil,  and  to  Ariosto  and  Tasso.  It 
was  an  honest  and  just  announcement.  Many  an  episode 
and  much  of  his  diction  came  from  the  epic  poems  of  Achilles 
and  ^neas,  or  of  Orlando  and  Rinaldo.  But  all  his 
borrowings  were  fused  with  his  own  invention  by  the  fire  of 
his  brain,  and  the  final  scheme  was  the  original  fruit  of  indi- 
vidual genius.     Spenser's  main  purpose  was  to  teach  virtue,  to 


180  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

instruct  men  in  the  conduct  of  life_,  to  expound- allegorically  a 
system  of  moral  philosophy.  But  with  a  lavish  hand  he  shed 
over  his  ethical  teaching  the  splendour  of  great  poetry,  and  it 
is  by  virtue  of  that  allurement  that  his  endeavour  won  its 
triumph. 

VII 

Spenser  was  ill  content  with  mere  verbal  recognition  of 
the  eminence  of  his  poetic  achievement.  His  presence  in 
A  suitor  London  was  not  only  planned  in  order  to  publish 
for  office.  ^jjg  Faerie  Queene,  and  to  enjoy  the  applause  of 
critics  near  at  hand.  It  was  also  designed  to  win  official 
preferment,  to  gain  a  more  congenial  means  of  livelihood 
that  was  open  to  him  in  Ireland,  a  home  '  unmeet  for  man  in 
whom  was  aught  regardful.'  To  secure  this  end  he  spared 
no  effort.  He  cared  little  for  his  self-respect  provided  he 
could  strengthen  his  chances  of  victory.  He  submitted  to 
all  the  tedious  and  degrading  routine  which  was  incumbent  on 
suitors  for  court  office;  he  patiently  suffered  rebuffs  and 
disappointments,  delays  and  the  indecision  of  patrons.  Some 
measure  of  success  rewarded  his  persistency.  Ralegh,  who 
enjoyed  for  the  time  Queen  Elizabeth's  favour,  worked  hard 
in  his  friend's  behalf.  The  Queen  was  not  indifferent  to  the 
compliments  Spenser  had  paid  her  in  his  great  poem.  Great 
ladies  were  gratified  by  the  poetic  eulogies  he  offered  them  in 
occasional  verse.  In  the  exalted  ranks  of  society  his  reputa- 
tion as  an  unapproached  master  of  his  art  grew  steadily. 

A  general  willingness  manifested  itself  favourably  to  re- 
spond to  the  plaintive  petitions  of  a  poet  so  richly  endowed. 
The  grant  -^  pension  was  suggested.  The  Queen  herself, 
of  a  pension.  ^Yiq  rumour  went,  accepted  the  suggestion  with 
alacrity,  and  calling  the  attention  of  her  Lord  Treasurer,  Lord 
Burghley,  to  it,  bade  him  be  generous.  She  named  a  sum 
which  was  deemed  by  her  adviser  excessive.     Finally  Spenser 


EDMUND    SPENSER  181 

was  allotted  a  State-paid  income  of  fifty  pounds  a  year.  The 
amount  was  large  at  a  time  when  the  purchasing  power  of 
money  was  eight  times  what  it  is  now,  and  the  bestowal  of  it 
gave  him  such  prestige  as  recognition  by  the  crown  invariably 
confers  on  a  poet,  although  it  did  not  give  Spenser  the  formal 
title  of  poet-laureate. 

But  Spenser  was  unsatisfied;  he  resented  and  never  for- 
gave the  attitude  of  Lord  Burghley,  who,  like  most  practical 
statesmen,  looked  with  suspicion  on  poets  when  The  return 
they  sought  political  posts :  he  had  no  enthusiasm  *°  Ireland. 
for  amateurs  in  political  office,  nor  did  he  approve  of  the 
appropriation  of  public  money  to  the  encouragement  of 
literary  genius.  The  net  result  left  Spenser's  position  un- 
changed. The  pension  was  not  large  enough  to  justify  him 
in  abandoning  work  in  Ireland.  England  offered  him  no 
asylum.  He  recrossed  the  Irish  Channel  to  resume  his  office 
as  Clerk  of  the  Council  of  Munster. 

At    home    in    Ireland,    Spenser    reviewed    his    fortunes    in 

despair.     With  feeling  he  wrote  in  his  poem  called    His  despair 

^  of  his 

Mother  Hubberds  Tale: —  fortunes. 

'Full  little  knowest  thou,  that  hast  not  tried, 
What  hell  it  is,  in  suing  long  to  bide: 
To  lose  good  days,  that  might  be  better  spent; 
To  waste  long  nights  in  pensive  discontent; 
To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  fear  and  sorrow. 
To  have  thy  Prince's  grace,  yet  want  her  Peers; 
To  have  thy  asking,  yet  wait  many  years; 
To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares; 
To  eat  thy  heart  through  comfortless  despairs; 
To  fawn,  to  crouch,  to  wait,  to  ride,  to  run, 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undone. 
Unhappy  wight,  born  to  disastrous  end. 
That  doth  his  life  in  so  long  tendance  spend!'  * 
1  Spenser's  Prosopopoia,  or  Mother  Hubberds  Tale,  11.  896-909. 


182  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

On  a  second  poem  of  the  same  date  and  on  the  same  theme 
he  bestowed  tlie  ironical  title  Colin  Clouts  come  home  againe 
(Colin  Clout  was  a  nick-name  which  it  amused  him  to  give 
himself).  Colin  Clout  is  as  charming  and  simple  an  essay  in 
autobiography  as  fell  from  any  poet's  pen.  He  recalls  the 
details  of  his  recent  experience  in  London  with  charming 
naivete,  and  dwells  with  generous  enthusiasm  on  the  favours 
and  *  sundry  good  turns,'  which  he  owed  to  his  neighbour 
Sir  Walter  Ralegh.  He  sent  the  manuscript  of  Colin  Clout 
to  Ralegh,  and,  although  it  was  not  printed  till  1595,  it 
soon  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  Elsewhere  in  another  occa- 
sional poem.  The  Ruines  of  Time,  which  mainly  lamented  the 
death  of  his  first  patron  Leicester  and  of  that  patron's 
brother  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  he  avenged  himself  in  a  more 
strident  note  on  Lord  Burghley's  cynical  indifference  to  his 
need. 

All  the  leisure  that  his  official  duties  left  him  he  now 
devoted  to  poetry.  He  committed  to  verse  all  his  thought. 
He  was  no  longer  reticent,  and  sent  copies  of  his  poems  in 
all  directions.  Quickly  he  came  before  the  public  as  author 
Complaints  ^^  another  volume  of  verse  possessing  high  auto- 
1590.  biographical  attraction.     This  was  a  characteristic 

venture  of  the  publisher  Ponsonby,  and  with  its  actual  pre- 
paration for  the  press  the  poet  was  not  directly  concerned. 
Scattered  poems  by  Spenser  were  circulating  in  manuscript 
from  hand  to  hand.  These  the  publisher,  Ponsonby,  brought 
together  under  the  title  of  Complaints,  without  distinct 
authority  from  the  author.  The  book  seems  to  have  contained 
compositions  of  various  dates;  some  belonged  to  early  years, 
but  the  majority  were  very  recent.  To  the  recent  work 
belongs  one  of  Spenser's  most  characteristic,  and  most  mature 
poetic  efforts,  the  poem  of  '  Muiopotmos.'  That  poem  is  the 
airiest    of    fancies    treated    with    marvellous    delicacy    and 


EDMUND    SPENSER  183 

vivacity.  It  tells  the  trivial  story  of  a  butterfly  swept  by  a 
gust  of  wind  into  a  spider's  web.  But  the  picturesque  por- 
trayal of  the  butterfly's  careless  passage  through  the  air, 
and  of  his  revellings  in  all  the  delights  of  nature,  breathes 
the  purest  spirit  of  simple  and  sensuous  poetry. 

'  Over  the  fields,  in  his  frank  lustiness, 
And  all  the  champain  o'er,  he  soared  light. 
And  all  the  country  wide  he  did  possess. 
Feeding  upon  their  pleasures  bounteously, 
That  none  gainsaid  and  none  did  him  envy.* 

It  is  difficult  to  refuse  assent  to  the  interpretation  of  the 
poem  which  detects  in  the  butterfly's  j  oyous  career  on  *  his 
aircutting  wings/  and  his  final  and  fatal  entanglement  in  the 
grisly  tyrant's  den,  a  figurative  reflection  of  the  poet's  own 
experiences. 

VIII 

A  change  was  imminent  in  Spenser's  private  life.     Once 
more  he  contemplated  marriage.     He  paid  his  addresses  to 
the   daughter  of   a   neighbouring  landlord.      Her    The  poet's 
father,  James  Boyle,  was  the  kinsman  of  a  great    naamage. 
magnate  of  the  south  of  Ireland,   Richard  Boyle,  who  was 
to  be  created  at  a  later  period  Earl  of  Cork. 

It  was  in  accord  with  the  fashion  of  the  time,  that 
Spenser,  under  the  new  sway  of  the  winged  god,  should 
interrupt  the  poetic  labours  on  which  he  had  already 
entered,  to  pen,  in  honour  of  his  wished-for  bride,  a  long 
sequence  of  sonnets.  Spenser's  sonnets,  which  he  jjjg 
entitled  Amoretti,  do  not  rank  very  high  among  ^^^^^^^*- 
his  poetic  compositions.  Like  those  of  most  of  his  contem- 
poraries, they  reflect  his  wide  reading  in  the  similar  work 
of  French  and  Italian  contemporaries  to  a  larger  extent  than 


184  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

his  own  individuality.  Although  a  personal  experience  im- 
pelled him  to  the  enterprise^  it  is  only  with  serious  qualifica- 
tions that  Spenser's  sequence  of  sonnets  can  be  regarded  as 
autobiographic  confessions.^  In  his  hands,  as  in  the  hands 
of  Sidney  and  Daniel,  the  sonnet  was  a  poetic  instrument 
whereon  he  sought  to  repeat  in  his  mother  tongue,  with  very 
vague  reference  to  his  personal  circumstances,  the  notes  of 
amorous  feeling  and  diction  which  earlier  poets  of  Italy  and 
France  had  already  made  their  own.  The  sonnet,  which  was 
a  wholly  foreign  form  of  poetry,  and  came  direct  to  Eliza- 
bethan England  from  the  Continent  of  Europe,  had  an  in- 
herent attraction  for  Spenser  throughout  his  career.  His 
earliest  literary  efforts  were  two  small  collections  of  sonnets, 
renderings  respectively  of  French  sonnets  by  Du  Bellay  and 
Marot's  French  translation  of  an  ode  of  Petrarch.  His 
Amoretti  prove  that  in  his  maturer  years  he  had  fully  main- 
tained his  early  affection  for  French  and  Italian  sonneteers. 
He  had  indeed  greatly  extended  his  acquaintance  among 
them.  The  influence  of  Petrarch  and  Du  BeUay  was  now 
rivalled  by  the  influence  of  Tasso  and  Desportes.2  At  times 
Spenser  is  content  with  literal  translation  of  these  two  for- 


1  Spenser  makes  only  three  distinctly  autobiographical  statements  in  hLs 
sonnets.  Sonnet  xxxiii.  is  addressed  by  name  to  his  friend  Lodowick 
Bryskett,  and  is  an  apology  for  the  poet's  delay  in  completing  his  Faerie 
Queene.  In  sonnet  Ix.  Spenser  states  that  he  is  forty-one  years  old,  and 
that  one  year  has  passed  since  he  came  under  the  influence  of  the  winged 
god.  Sonnet  Ixxiv.  apostrophises  the  'happy  letters'  which  comprise  the 
name  Elizabeth,  which  he  states  was  borne  alike  by  his  mother,  his  sove- 
reign, and  his  wife,  Elizabeth  Boyle. 

*Ye  three  Elizabeths!  for  ever  live, 
That  three  such  graces  did  unto  me  give.* 

Here  Spenser  seems  to  be  following  a  hint  offered  him  by  Tasso,  who  ad- 
dressed a  sonnet  to  three  benefactresses  ('Tre  gran  donne')  all  named 
Leonora. — (Tasso,  Eime,  Venice,  1583,  vol.  i.  p.  39.) 

2  See  Elizabethan  Sonnets,  vol.  i.  pp.  xcii.-xcix,  (introd.),  edited  by  the 


EDMUND    SPENSER  185 

eign  masters;  very  occasionally  does  he  altogether  escape 
from  their  toils.  Where  he  avoids  literal  dependence,  he 
commonly  adopts  foreign  words  and  ideas  too  closely  to  give 
his  individuality  complete  freedom.  Only  three  or  four  times 
does  he  break  loose  from  the  foreign  chains  and  reveal  in  his 
sonnet  sequence  the  full  force  of  his  great  genius.  For  the 
most  part  the  Amoretti  reproduce  the  hollow  prettiness  and 
cloying  sweetness  of  French  and  Italian  conceits  with  little 
of  the  English  poet's  distinctive  charm. 

But  if  sincerity  and  originality  are  slenderly  represented 
in  the  sonnets,  neither  of  these  qualities  is  wanting  to  the 
great  ode  which  was  published  with  them.     There    TheEpi- 
Spenser  with  an  engaging  frankness  betrayed  the    ^hcdamion. 
elation  of  spirit  which  came  of  his  courtship  and  marriage. 
In  this  Epithalamion,  with  which  he  celebrated  his  wedding, 

present  writer.     The  following  is  a  good  example  of  Spenser's  dependence 
on  Tasso,     Nine  lines  of  Tasso's  sonnet  are  literally  translated  by  Spenser: — 
'Fair  is  my  love,  when  her  fair  golden  hairs 

With  the  loose  wind  ye  wa\ang  chance  to  mark; 

Fair,  when  the  rose  in  her  red  cheeks  appears, 

Or  in  her  eyes  the  fire  of  love  doth  spark.     .     .     , 

But  fairest  she,  when  so  she  doth  display 

The  gate  with  pearls  and  rubies  richly  dight ; 

Through  which  her  words  so  wise  do  make  their  way, 

To  bear  the  message  of  her  gentle  spright.' 

(Spenser,  Amoretti,  Ixxxi.) 

*  Bella  e  la  donna  mia,  se  dal  bel  crine, 

L'oro  al  vento  ondeggiare  avien,  che  miri; 

Bella  se  volger  gli  occhi  in  dolci  girl 

O  le  rose  fiorir  tra  la  sue  brine.     .     .     . 
Ma  quella,  ch'apre  un  dolce  labro,  e  serra 

Porta  di  bei  rubin  si  dolcemente, 

E  belt^  sovra  ogn'  altra  altera,  ed  alma. 
Porta  gentil  de  la  pregion  de  I'alma, 

Onde  i  messi  d'amor  escon  sovente.' 

(Tasso,  Rime,  Venice,  1585,  vol.  iii.  p.  17  6.) 

Spenser's  fidelity  as  a  translator  does  not  permit  him  to  omit  even  Tasso's 
pleonastic  '  che  miri '  (line  2),  which  he  renders  quite  literally  by  *  ye  chance 
to  mark.' 


186  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

his  lyrical  powers  found  full  scope,  and  the  ode  takes  rank 
with  the  greatest  of  English  lyrics.  The  refined  tone  does 
not  ignore  any  essential  facts,  but  every  touch  subserves  the 
purposes  of  purity  and  brings  into  prominence  the  spiritual 
beauty  of  the  nuptial  tie.  Of  the  fascination  of  his  bride  he 
writes  in  lines  like  these: — 

*But  if  ye  saw  that  which  no  eyes  can  see, 
The  inward  beauty  of  her  lively  spright, 
Garnished  with  heavenly  gifts  of  high  degree, 
Much  more  then  would  you  wonder  at  that  sight. 
And  stand  astonished  like  to  those  which  red 
Medusa's  mazeful  head. 
There  dwells  sweet  love,  and  constant  chastity. 
Unspotted  faith,  and  comely  womanhood, 
Regard  of  honour,  and  mild  modesty; 
There  virtue  reigns  as  queen  in  royal  throne. 
And  giveth  laws  alone, 
The  which  the  base  affections  do  obey. 
And  yield  their  services  unto  her  will; 
Ne  thought  of  thing  uncomely  ever  may 
Thereto  approach  to  tempt  her  mind  to  ill. 
Had  ye  once  seen  these  her  celestial  treasures. 
And  unrevealed  pleasures, 
Then  would  ye  wonder,  and  her  praises  sing. 
That  all  the  woods  should  answer,  and  your  echo  ring.*  * 

Spenser  deferred  marriage  to  so  mature  an  age  as  forty- 
two.      His    great    achievements    in    poetry    were    then    com- 

^,    „      .       pleted.     Before  his  marriage  he  had  finished  the 

The  Faerie       ^  ° 

Queene  last  three  completed  books  of  his  Faerie  Queene; 

continued. 

a  fragment  of  a  seventh  book  survives  of  uncer- 
tain date,  but  it  probably  belongs  to  the  poet's  pre-nuptial 
career.  After  his  marriage,  his  first  practical  business  was 
to  revisit  London  and  superintend  the  printing  of  the  three 
last  completed  books  of  his  great  allegory. 
» Epithalamion,  11.  185-203. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  187 

Five  years  had  passed  since  his  last  sojourn  in  England, 
and  his  welcome  was  not  all  that  he  could  wish.  In  diplo- 
matic circles  he  found  himself  an  object  of  sus-  Political 
picion.  James  vi.,  the  King  of  Scotland,  himself  difficulties. 
a  poet  and  a  reader  of  poetry,  had  lately  detected  in  Duessa, 
the  deceitful  witch  of  Spenser's  great  poem,  an  ill-disguised 
portrait  of  his  own  mother,  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  Official 
complaint  had  been  made  to  the  English  Government,  and 
a  request  preferred  for  the  punishment  of  the  offending  poet. 
The  controversy  went  no  further  and  Spenser  was  unharmed, 
but  the  older  politicians  complained  privately  of  his  indis- 
cretion, and  Burghley's  cynical  scorn  seemed  justified. 

The  fashionable  nobility,  however,  only  recognised  his 
glorious  poetic  gifts  and  their  enthusiasm  was  undiminished. 
Spenser  followed  the  Court  with  persistence.     He    ^,    ^    , 

was  a  visitor  at  the  Queen's  palace  at  Greenwich    of  Essex's 

patronage. 
where  Shakespeare  had  acted  in  the  royal  pres- 
ence two  seasons  before.  Especially  promising  was  the 
reception  accorded  him  by  the  Queen's  latest  favourite,  the 
Earl  of  Essex,  a  sincere  lover  of  the  arts  and  of  artists,  but 
of  too  impetuous  a  temperament  to  exert  genuine  influence 
at  Court  in  behalf  of  a  protege.  Spenser  was  the  Earl's 
guest  at  Essex  House  in  the  Strand.  The  mansion  was 
already  familiar  to  the  poet,  for  it  had  been  in  earlier  years 
the  residence  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  the  poet's  first  patron, 
and  Essex's  predecessor  in  the  regard  of  his  sovereign. 
Spenser  rejoiced  in  the  renewed  hospitality  the  familiar  roof 
offered  him.  Of  his  presence  in  Essex  House,  he  left  a 
memorial  of  high  literary  interest.  It  was  in  honour  of  two 
noble  ladies,  daughters  of  the  Earl  of  Worcester,  who  were 
married  from  Essex  House  in  November  1596,  that  Spenser 
penned  the  latest  of  his  poems  and  one  that  embodied  the 
quintessence    of    his    lyric    gift.      His    *  Prothalamion    or    a 


188  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

spousal  verse,  in  honour  of  the  double  marriage  of  two 
honourable  and  virtuous  ladies,*  was  hardly  a  whit  inferior  to 
his  recent  Epithalamion.     Its  far-famed  refrain: 

•  Sweet  Thames,  run  softly  till  I  end  my  song,* 

sounds  indeed  a  sweeter  note  than  the  refrain  of  answering 
woods  and  ringing  echoes  in  the  earlier  ode.  It  leaves  an 
ineffaceable  impression  of  musical  grace  and  simplicity.  It 
was  Spenser's  fit  farewell  to  his  Muse. 

It   was    not   poetry   that   occupied    Spenser's    main    atten- 
tion during  this  visit  to   London.     Again  his  chief  concern 

was    the    search    for    more    lucrative    employment 
His  prose 

tract  on  than  Ireland  was  offering  him,  and  in  this  quest 
Ireland.  .  i  it  i  i     n 

he  met  with  smaller  encouragement  than  before. 

With  a  view  to  proving  his  political  sagacity  and  his  fitness 
for  political  work,  he  now  indeed  abandoned  with  his  Pro- 
thalamion  poetry  altogether.  Much  of  his  time  in  London 
he  devoted  to  describing  and  criticising  the  existing  condition 
of  the  country  of  Ireland  where  his  life  was  unwillingly 
passed.  He  wrote  dialogue-wise  a  prose  treatise  which  he 
called  *  A  view  of  the  present  state  of  Ireland.*  It  was  first 
circulated  in  manuscript,  and  was  not  published  in  Spenser's 
lifetime.  Despite  many  picturesque  passages,  and  an  attrac- 
tive flow  of  colloquy,  it  is  not  the  work  that  one  would  expect 
from  a  great  poet  at  the  zenith  of  his  powers.  For  the  most 
part  Spenser's  *  View '  is  a  political  pamphlet,  showing  a 
narrow  political  temper  and  lack  of  magnanimity.  The 
argument  is  a  mere  echo  of  the  hopeless  and  helpless  preju- 
dices which  infected  the  English  governing  class.  Despair 
of  Ireland's  political  and  social  future  is  the  dominant  note. 
*  Marry,  see  there  have  been  divers  good  plots  devised  and 
wise  counsels  cast  already  about  reformation  of  that  realm; 
but  they  say  it  is  the  fatal  destiny  of  that  land,  that  no  pur- 


EDMUND    SPENSER  189 

poses,  whatsoever  are  meant  for  her  good,  will  prosper  or 
take  good  effect,  which  whether  it  proceed  from  the  very 
Genius  of  the  soil,  or  influence  of  the  stars,  or  that  Almighty 
God  hath  not  yet  appointed  the  time  of  her  reformation,  or 
that  he  reserveth  her  in  this  unquiet  state  still  for  some 
secret  scourge,  which  shall  by  her  come  unto  England,  it  is 
hard  to  be  known,  but  yet  much  to  be  feared/ 

The  poet  failed  to  recognise  any  justice  in  the  claims  of 
Irish  nationality;  English  law  was  to  be  forced  on  Irishmen; 
Irish  nationality  was  to  be  suppressed  (if  need  Hispre- 
be)  at  the  point  of  the  sword.  Spenser's  avowed  ^ai^tthe 
want  of  charity  long  caused  in  the  native  popula-  ^"^^• 
tion  abhorrence  of  his  name.  But  while  condemning  Irish 
character  and  customs,  Spenser  was  enlightened  enough  to 
perceive  defects  in  English  methods  of  governing  Ireland. 
He  deplored  the  ignorance  and  degradation  of  the  Protestant 
clergy  there,  and  the  unreadiness  of  the  new  settlers  to  take 
advantage,  by  right  scientific  methods  of  cultivation,  of  the 
natural  wealth  of  the  soil.  Despite  his  invincible  prejudices, 
Spenser  acknowledged,  too,  some  good  qualities  in  the  native 
Irish.  They  were  skilled  and  alert  horsemen.  *  I  have  heard 
some  great  warriors  say,  that,  in  all  the  services  which  they 
had  seen  abroad  in  foreign  countries,  they  never  saw  a  more 
comely  horseman  than  the  Irish  man,  nor  that  cometh  on 
more  bravely  in  his  charge:  neither  is  his  manner  of  mounting 
unseemly,  though  he  wants  stirrups,  but  more  ready  than 
with  stirrups,  for  in  his  getting  up  his  horse  is  still  going, 
whereby  he  gaineth  way.' 

Spenser  allows,  too,  a  qualified  virtue  in  the  native  poetry. 
Of  Irish  compositions  Spenser  asserts  that  *  they  savoured  of 
sweet  wit  and  good  invention,  but  skilled  not  of  the  goodly 
ornaments  of  Poetry:  yet  were  they  sprinkled  with  some 
pretty  flowers  of  their  own  natural  device,  which  gave  good 


190  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

grace  and  comeliness  unto  them.'  Spenser  also  took  an 
antiquarian  interest  in  the  remains  of  Irish  art  and  civilisa- 
tion^ and  contemplated  a  work  on  Irish  antiquities,  of  which 
no  trace  has  been  found. 

Only  the  natural  beauty  of  the  country  excited  in  him  any 
genuine  enthusiasm.      *  And  sure  it  is  yet  a  most  beautiful 

and  sweet  country  as  any  is  under  heaven,  seamed 
The  natural  n 

beauty  of       throughout   with  many  goodly  rivers,  replenished 

with  all  sorts  of  fish;  most  abundantly  sprinkled 

with  many  sweet  islands  and  goodly  lakes  like  little  inland 

seas  that  will  carry  even   ships  upon  their  waters;   adorned 

with  goodly  woods  fit  for  building  of  houses  and  ships,  so 

commodiously,  as  that  if  some  princes  in  the  world  had  them, 

they  would  soon  hope  to  be  lords  of  all  the  seas,  and  ere 

long  of  all  the  world;   also  full  of  good  ports  and  havens 

opening  upon  England  and  Scotland,  as  inviting  us  to  come 

to  them;  to  see  what  excellent  commodities  that  country  can 

afford,  besides  the  soil  itself  most  fertile,  fit  to  yield  all  kinds 

of  fruit  that  shall  be  committed  thereunto.     And  lastly,  the 

heavens  most  mild  and  temperate.' 

His  '  View  of  the  present  state  of  Ireland '  is   Spenser's 

only  work  in  prose,  and  is  his  final  contribution  to  literature. 


IX 

Early  in  1597  Spenser  returned  to  Ireland  for  the  last 
time,  and  at  the  moment  empty-handed.  He  was  more  than 
Sheriff  of  usually  depressed  in  spirit.  His  stay  at  Court, 
Cork  1598.  -^e  wrote,  had  been  fruitless.  Sullen  care  over- 
whelmed him.  Idle  hopes  flew  away  like  empty  shadows. 
None  the  less  a  change  was  wrought  next  year  in  his  position 
in  Ireland.  He  received  the  appointment  of  Sheriff  of  Cork 
in  the  autumn  of  1598.     The  preferment  was  of  no  enviable 


EDMUND    SPENSER  I9I 

kind.  It  was  an  anxious  and  a  thankless  office  to  which  Spen- 
ser was  called.  The  difficulties  of  Irish  government  were  at 
the  moment  reaching  a  crisis  which  was  likely  to  involve 
Sheriffs  of  the  South  in  personal  peril.  A  great  effort  was 
in  preparation  on  the  part  of  the  native  Irish  to  throw  off  the 
tyrannous  yoke  of  England,  and  a  stout  nerve  and  resolute 
action  were  required  in  all  officers  of  state  if  the  attack  were 
to  be  successfully  repulsed. 

The  first  sign  of  the  storm  came  in  August  1598 — a  week 
before  Spenser's  formal  instalment  as  Sheriff.  In  that  month 
the  great  leader  of  the  native  Irish,  the  Earl  of  Ireland  in 
Tyrone,  gathered  an  army  together  and  met  Eng-  rebeUion. 
lish  troops  at  Blackwater,  not  far  from  Dublin,  inflicting  on 
them  a  complete  defeat.  That  is  the  only  occasion  in  English 
history  on  which  Irishmen,  meeting  Englishmen  in  open 
battle,  have  proved  themselves  the  conquerors.  The  old  spirit 
of  discontent,  thus  stimulated,  rapidly  spread  to  Spenser's 
neighbourhood.  Tyrone  sent  some  of  his  Irish  soldiers  into 
Munster,  the  whole  province  was  roused,  and  County  Cork 
was  at  their  mercy.  Panic  seized  the  little  English  garrisons 
scattered  over  the  County.  Spenser  was  taken  unawares;  the 
castle  of  Kilcolman  was  burnt  over  his  head,  and  he,  his 
wife,  and  four  children  fled  with  great  difficulty  to  Cork. 
An  inaccurate  report  spread  at  the  time  in  London  that  one 
of  his  children  perished  in  the  flames.  Spenser's  position 
resembled  that  of  many  an  English  civilian  at  the  outbreak 
in  India  of  the  Indian  Mutiny,  but  he  did  not  display  the 
heroism  or  firm  courage  of  those  who  were  to  .follow  him 
as  guardians  of  the  outposts  of  the  British  Empire.  At  Cork 
all  that  Spenser  did  was  to  send  a  brief  note  of  the  situation 
to  the  Queen,  entreating  her  to  show  those  caitiffs  the  terror 
of  her  wrath,  and  send  over  a  force  of  ten  thousand  men, 
with  sufficient  cavalry,  to  extirpate  them. 


192  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

In  December  the  President  of  Munster,  Sir  Thomas  Nor- 

reys,  an  old  friend  of  the  poet,  sent  him  over  to  London  to 

deliver  despatches  to  the  Government.     It  was  his 
His  last  . 

mission  to       last  journey.     His   health  was   fatally  ruined  by 

the  shock  of  the  rebellion_,  and  he  reached  London 

only  to  die.     He  found  shelter  in  an  inn  or  lodging  in  King 

Street,   Westminster,   and   there   he   died  on   Saturday,    l6th 

January,  1599-     He  was  in  the  prime  of  life — hardly  more 

than   forty-seven  years   old — but  his  choice  spirit  could  not 

withstand  the  buffetings  of  so  desperate  a  crisis. 

Rumour  ran  that  Spenser  died  in  Westminster,  *  for  lack  of 

bread,'  in  a   state  of   complete   destitution.      It  is   said  that 

the  Earl  of  Essex,  his  host  in  London  of  three 
His  death. 

years  back,  learned  of  his  distressful  condition  too 

late,  and  that,  just  before  the  poet  breathed  his  last,  the 
Earl  sent  him  twenty  pieces  of  silver,  which  Spenser  refused 
with  the  grim  remark  that  he  had  no  time  to  spend  them.  The 
story  is  probably  exaggerated.  Spenser  came  to  London 
as  a  Queen's  messenger;  he  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  pen- 
sion, and  though  his  life  was  a  long  struggle  with  poverty, 
mainly  through  unbusinesslike  habits,  it  is  unlikely  that  he 
was  without  necessaries  on  his  death-bed.  It  is  more  probable 
that  he  died  of  nervous  prostration  than  of  starvation.^ 

At   any   rate   Spenser   had   friends   in   London,   and   they, 
when  he  was   dead,   accorded   him   a   fitting  burial.      West- 

» Nevertheless  the  belief  that  he  had  been  harshly  used  long  survived. 
John  Weever,  in  an  epigram  pubUshed  in  the  year  of  Spenser's  death, 
declared  :-t= 

'  Spenser  is  ruined,  of  our  latest  tune 
The  fairest  ruin,  Faeries  foiilest  want.' 

The  author  of  the  Return  from  Parnassus  asserts  that  in  his  last  hours  *  main- 
tenance* was  denied  him  by  an  ungrateful  country.  A  later  disciple, 
Phineas  Fletcher,  in  his  Purple  Island,  wrote  of  Spenser : — 

'Poorly,  poor  man,  he  lived;  poorly,  poor  man,  he  died.' 


EDMUND    SPENSER  193 

minster   Abbey,   the   National   Church,   where   the   sovereigns 

of   the   country   were   wont   to   find  their   last   earthly   home, 

became  Spenser's  final  resting-place.     The  choice 

His  burial. 
of  such  a  sepulchre  was  notable  testimony  to  his 

poetical  repute.  The  Abbey  had  not  yet  acquired  its  *  Poets' 
Corner  '  in  its  southern  transept.  It  was  Spenser's  interment 
which  practically  inaugurated  that  noble  chamber  of  death. 
Only  one  great  man  of  letters  had  been  buried  there  already. 
Chaucer  had  been  laid  in  the  southern  transept  two  hundred 
years  before,  not  apparently  in  his  capacity  of  poet,  but  as 
officer  of  the  King's  royal  household,  all  members  of  which 
had  some  vague  title  to  burial  near  their  royal  masters.  It 
was  not  until  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  when 
Chaucer's  title  to  be  reckoned  the  father  of  great  English 
poetry  was  first  acknowledged,  that  an  admirer  sought  and 
obtained  permission  to  raise  a  monument  to  his  memory 
near  his  grave.  The  episode  stirred  the  imagination  of  the 
Elizabethans,  and  when  death  claimed  Spenser,  who  called 
Chaucer  master,  and  who  was  reckoned  the  true  successor 
to  Chaucer's  throne  of  English  poetry,  a  sentiment  spread 
abroad  that  he  who  was  so  nearly  akin  to  Chaucer  by  force  of 
poetic  genius  ought  of  right  to  sleep  near  his  tomb.  Accord- 
ingly in  fitting  pomp  Spenser's  remains  were  interred  be- 
neath the  shadow  of  the  elder  poet's  monument.^  The  Earl  of 
Essex,  the  favourite  of  the  Queen,  who  honoured  Spenser 
with  unqualified  enthusiasm,  and  despite  his  waywardness 
in  politics  never  erred  in  his  devotion  to  the  Muses,  defrayed 
the    expenses    of    the    ceremony.      Those    who    attended    the 

» The  propriety  of  the  honour  thus  accorded  to  Spenser  is  crudely  but 
emphatically  acknowledged  by  the  author  of  the  PiLqrimage  to  Parnassus, 
1600,  where  the  critic  of  contemporary  literature,  Ingenioso,  after  lamenting 
the  sad  circumstances  of  Spenser's  death,  adds: — 

'But  softly  may  our  honour's  [var.  led.  Homer's]  ashes  rest. 
That  lie  by  merry  Chaucer's  noble  chest.' 
M 


194  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

obsequies  were  well  chosen.  In  the  procession  of  mourners 
walked,  we  are  told,  the  poets  of  the  day,  and  when  the 
cofl^  was  lowered  these  loving  admirers  of  their  great  col- 
league's work  threw  into  his  tomb  '  poems  and  mournful 
elegies  with  the  pens  that  wrote  them.'  Little  imagination 
is  needed  to  conjure  up  among  those  who  paid  homage  to 
Spenser's  spirit  the  glorious  figure  of  Shakespeare,  by  whom 
alone  of  contemporaries  Spenser  was  outshone. 

It  was  welcome  to  the  Queen  herself  that  Spenser,  the 
greatest  of  her  poetic  panegyrists,  should  receive  due  honour 
The  tomb  ^  death.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  she 
miSter^  claimed  the  duty  of  erecting  a  monument  above 
Abbey.  jjjg  grave.     But  the  pecuniary  misfortunes  which 

had  dogged  Spenser  in  life  seemed  to  hover  about  him  after 
death.  The  royal  intention  of  honouring  his  memory  was 
defeated  by  the  dishonesty  of  a  royal  servant.  The  money 
which  was  allotted  to  the  purpose  by  the  Queen  was  nefa- 
riously misapplied.  Ultimately,  twenty-one  years  after  Spen- 
ser's death,  a  monument  was  erected  at  the  cost  of  a  noble 
patroness  of  poets,  Ann  Clifford,  Countess  of  Dorset.  The 
inscription  ran : — *  Here  lyes  expecting  the  second  comminge 
of  our  Saviour  Christ  Jesus,  the  body  of  Edmond  Spencer, 
the  Prince  of  Poets  in  his  tyme,  whose  divine  spirit  needs 
noe  other  witnesse  than  the  workes  which  he  left  behind 
him.'  Spenser  was  rightfully  named  prince  of  the  realm 
of  which  Shakespeare  was  king.  Although  Shakespeare  was 
not  buried  at  Westminster,  Spenser's  tomb  was  soon  encircled 
by  the  graves  of  other  literary  heroes  of  his  epoch,  and  in 
course  of  time  a  memorial  statue  of  Shakespeare  overlooked 
it.  Three  of  Spenser's  contemporaries,  Francis  Beaumont, 
Michael  Drayton,  and  Ben  Jonson,  were  within  a  few  years 
interred  near  him  in  the  Abbey. 

Time  dealt  unkindly  with  the  fabric  of  Spenser's   monu- 


EDMUND    SPENSER  195 

ment,  and  in  the  eighteenth  century  it  needed  renovating  '  in 
durable  marble.'  But  it  was  Spenser's  funeral  rites  that 
permanently  ensured  for  literary  eminence  the  loftiest  dignity 
of  sepulture  that  the  English  nation  has  to  bestow.  Great 
literature  was  thenceforth  held  to  rank  with  the  greatest 
achievements  wrought  in  the  national  service.  During  the 
last  two  centuries  few  English  poets  of  supreme  merit  have 
been  denied  in  death  admission  to  the  national  sanctuary  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Spenser's  tomb.  Those  who  have  been 
buried  elsewhere  have  been,  like  Shakespeare^  commemorated 
in  Westminster  Abbey  by  sculptured  monuments. 


In  practical  affairs  Spenser's  life  was  a  failure.  It  ended 
in  a  somewhat  sordid  tragedy,  which  added  nothing  to  his 
political  reputation.  His  literary  work  stands  on  a  very 
different  footing.  Its  steady  progress  in  varied  excellences 
was  a  ceaseless  triumph  for  art.  It  won  him  immortal  fame. 
Spenser's  chief  work,  the  Faerie,  Queene,  was  the  spenser's 
greatest  poem  that  had  been  written  in  England  greatness. 
since  Chaucer  died,  and  remains,  when  it  is  brought  into 
comparison  with  all  that  English  poets  have  written  since, 
one  of  the  brightest  jewels  in  the  crown  of  English  poetry. 
It  is  worthy  of  closest  study.  Minute  inquiry  into  its  form 
and  spirit  is  essential  to  every  estimate  of  Spenser's  eminence. 

In    all    senses   the   work   is    great.      The    scale    on    which 
Spenser   planned   his    epic   allegory   has    indeed   no    parallel 

in    ancient    or    modern    literature.      All    that    has    _ 

The  amph- 

reached  us  is  but  a  quarter  of  the  contemplated    tude  of 

scale. 

whole.      Yet  the  Faerie   Queene  is,   in   its   extant 

shape,  as  long  as  Homer's  Iliad  and  Odyssey  combined  with 
Virgil's  Aeneid.  Even  epics  of  more  recent  date,  whose 
example  Spenser  confesses  to  have  emulated,  fell  far  behind 


196  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

his  work  in  its  liberality  of  scale.  In  the  unfinished  form 
that  it  has  come  down  to  us,  Spenser's  epic  is  more  than 
twice  as  long  as  Dante's  La  Divina  Commedia  or  Tasso's 
Gierusalemme  Liberata;  Ariosto's  Orlando  Furioso,  with 
which  Spenser  was  thoroughly  familiar_,  was  brought  to  com- 
pletion in  somewhat  fewer  lines.  Nor  did  Spenser's  great 
successors  compete  with  him  in  length.  Milton's  Paradise 
Lost,  the  greatest  of  all  English  epics,  fills,  when  joined  to 
its  sequel  Paradise  Regained,  less  than  a  third  of  Spenser's 
space.  Had  the  Faerie  Queene  reached  a  twenty-fourth 
book,  as  the  poet  at  the  outset  thought  possible,  not  all  the 
great  epics  penned  in  ancient  or  modern  Europe  would,  when 
piled  one  upon  the  other,  have  reached  the  gigantic  dimen- 
sions of  the  Elizabethan  poem. 

The  serious  temper  and  erudition,  of  which  the  enterprise 
was  the  fruit,  powerfully  impress  the  inquirer  at  the  outset. 
It  is  doubtful  if  Milton  and  Gray,  who  are  usually  reckoned 
the  most  learned  of  English  poets,  excelled  Spenser  in  the 
range  of  their  reading,  or  in  the  extent  to  which  their  poetry 
Assimila-  assimilated  the  fruits  of  their  study.  Homer  and 
live  power.  Theocritus,  Virgil  and  Cicero,  Petrarch  and  Du 
Bellay,  mediaeval  writers  of  chivalric  romance,  Tasso  and 
Ariosto,  supply  ideas,  episodes  and  phrases  to  the  Faerie 
Queene.  Early  in  life  Spenser  came  imder  the  spell  of  Tasso, 
the  monarch  of  contemporary  Italian  poetry,  and  gathered 
much  suggestion  from  his  ample  store.  But  the  Faerie  Queene 
owes  most  to  the  epic  of  Orlando  Furioso  by  Tasso's  prede- 
cessor, Ariosto.  The  chivalric  adventures  which  Spenser's 
heroes  undergo  are  often  directly  imitated  from  the  Italian  of 
'  that  most  famous  Tuscan  pen.'  Many  an  incident,  together 
with  the  moralising  which  its  details  suggest,  follows  Ariosto 
in  phraseology  too  closely  to  admit  any  doubt  of  its  source. 
Spenser   is   never   a   plagiarist.      He   invests   his   borrowings 


EDMUND    SPENSER  197 

with  his  own  individuality.  But  very  numerous  are  the  pas- 
sages which  owed  their  birth  to  Ariosto's  preceding  invention. 
The  Italian  poet  is  rich  in  imagery.  He  drank  deep  of  the 
Pierian  spring.  He  is,  indeed,  superior  to  Spenser  in  the  con- 
ciseness and  directness  of  his  narrative  power.  But  Ariosto 
has  little  of  the  warmth  of  human  sympathy  or  moral  elevation 
which  dignifies  Spenser's  effort.  Spenser's  tone  is  far  more 
serious  than  that  of  the  Italian  master,  whose  main  aim  was 
the  telling  of  an  exciting  tale.  Ariosto  is  far  inferior  to  Spenser 
in  the  sustained  energy  alike  of  his  moral  and  of  his  poetic 
impulse. 

The  Faerie  Queene  was  not  designed,  like  Ariosto's  achieve- 
ment, as  a  mere  piece  of  art.  It  was  before  all  else  a  moral 
treatise.  Although  it  was  fashioned  on  the  epic  xhe  moral 
lines  with  which  constant  reading  of  the  work  ^^^• 
of  Homer  and  Virgil  among  the  ancients,  and  more  es- 
pecially of  Ariosto  and  Tasso  among  the  moderns,  had  made 
Spenser  familiar,  Spenser  was  not  content  merely  to  tell  a 
story.  According  to  the  poet's  own  account,  he  sought  '  to 
represent  all  the  moral  virtues.  Holiness,  Temperance,  Chas- 
tity, and  the  like,  assigning  to  every  virtue  a  knight  to  be  the 
pattern  and  defender  of  the  same;  in  whose  actions  and  feats 
of  arms  and  chivalry  the  operations  of  that  virtue,  whereof  he 
is  the  protector,  are  to  be  expressed,  and  the  vices  and  unruly 
appetites  that  oppose  themselves  against  the  same  to  be 
beaten  down  and  overcome.'  Twelve  books,  one  for  each 
moral  virtue,  were  needed  for  such  an  exposition  of  ethical 
philosophy.  But  this  was  only  the  first  step  in  the  poet's 
contemplated  journey.  The  author  looked  forward  to  supple- 
menting this  ethical  effort  by  an  exposition  of  political 
philosophy,  in  another  twelve  books  which  would  expound 
the  twelve  political  virtues  that  were  essential  to  a  perfect 
ruler  of  men.     Of  the  twenty-four  projected  books  there  is  a 


198  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

tradition  that  Spenser  wrote  twelve,  nearly  half  of  which 
were  destroyed  in  manuscript  by  the  rebels  in  Ireland.  It  is 
certain  that  only  the  first  six  books,  with  a  small  portion  of 
the  seventh,  have  reached  us. 

Spenser's  ethical  views  are  not  systematically  developed, 
but,  considered  in  their  main  aspect,  they  owe  an  immense 
The  debt  debt  to  the  Greek  philosopher  Plato.  Plato's 
to  Plato.  ethical  teaching  glows  in  page  after  page  of  the 
Faerie  Queene  and  of  Spenser's  shorter  poems.  The  English 
poet  loyally  accepts  Plato's  doctrines  that  true  beauty  is 
only  of  the  mind,  that  reason  is  the  sole  arbiter  of 
man's  destiny,  that  war  must  be  waged  on  the  passions  and 
the  bodily  senses,  that  peace  and  happiness  are  the  fruit 
of  the  intellect  when  it  is  enfranchised  of  corporeal  infirmity. 
*  All  happy  peace  and  goodly  government '  are  only  '  settled 
in  sure  establishment  * 

'In  a  body  which  doth  freely  yield 
His  parts  to  reason's  rule  obedient. 
And  letteth  her  that  ought  the  sceptre  wield.*  * 

But  it  is  not  merely  in  his  general  ethical  tone  that  Spenser 
acknowledges  his  discipleship  to  Plato.  Many  details  of  the 
Faerie  Queene  embody  Platonic  terminology  and  Platonic 
conceptions.  In  book  iii.  he  borrows  from  Plato  the  con- 
ception of  *  the  garden  of  Adonis  ' — Nature's  nursery — and 
under  that  image  he  presents  Plato's  theory  of  the  infinite 
mutability  of  matter,  despite  its  indestructibility.  Infinite 
shapes  of  creatures  are  bred,  Spenser  points  out,  *  in  that 
same  garden  '  wherewith  the  world  is  replenished, 

*Yet  is  the  stock  not  lessened,  nor  spent, 
But  still  remains  in  everlasting  store. 
As  it  at  first  created  was  of  yore.*  * 

Bk.  11,,  canto  xi.,  stanza  ii.         '  Bk.  iii.,  canto  vi,,  stanza  xxxvi. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  199 

In  book  II.  Spenser  describes  the  threefold  elements  which 
go  to  the  making  of  man's  soul:  right  reason  (Medina),  the 
passion  of  wrath  (Elissa),  and  the  passion  of  sensual  desire 
(Perissa).  Although  the  poet  here  recalls  the  doctrine  of 
Plato's  great  disciple,  Aristotle,  to  the  effect  that  virtue  is  the 
golden  mean  between  excess  and  defect,  he  actually  accepts 
the  older  Platonic  principle  that  virtue  is  the  mean  between 
two  equally  active  and  powerful  evil  passions.  Occasionally 
Spenser  ranges  himself  with  later  Greek  philosophers,  who 
developed  and  exaggerated  Plato's  doctrine  of  the  eternal 
spirit's  supremacy  over  mutable  matter.  But  Plato  is  always 
his  foremost  teacher,  not  only  in  the  Faerie  Queene  but  in  his 
sonnets,  in  his  rapturous  hymns  of  beauty,  and  in  much  else 
of  his  occasional  poetry. 

In    fulfilment   of   his    ethical   purpose   the   poet   imagined 
twelve  knights,   each  the  champion   of   one   of   *  the   private 

moral  virtues,*  who  should  undertake  perilous  com-    ^ 

Spenser  s 

bats  with  vice  in  various  shapes.     The  first  and    Knights  of 

the  Virtues. 

second  champions, — respectively,  the  knight  of  the 

Red  Cross,  or  of  Holiness,  and  Sir  Guyon,  the  knight  of 
Temperance, — embody  with  singular  precision  Platonic  doc- 
trine. The  third  champion,  a  more  original  conception,  was 
a  woman,  Britomart,  the  lady-knight  of  Chastity;  the  fourth 
was  Cambell,  who,  joined  with  Triamond,  illustrates  the 
worth  of  Friendship;  the  fifth  was  Artegal,  the  knight  of 
Justice;  the  sixth.  Sir  Calidore,  the  knight  of  Courtesy. 
Spenser  intended  that  his  seventh  knight  should  be  cham- 
pion of  Constancy,  but  of  that  story  only  a  fragment  survives. 
Sir  Calidore  is  the  last  completed  hero  in  the  poet's  gallery. 
The  allegorised  adventures  in  which  Spenser's  knights  en- 
gage are  cast  for  the  most  part  in  the  true  epic  mould.  Episode 
after  episode  reads  like  chapters  of  chivalric  romance  of  ad- 
venture.   Rescues  of  innocent  ladies  by  the  knights,  of  knights. 


200  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN" 

from  the  persecutions  of  giant  villains^  constantly  recur. 
Fiercely  fought  encounters  with  monsters  of  hateful  mien 
abound.  Spenser  indeed  employs  this  machinery  of  chivalric 
conflict  with  a  frequency  that  leaves  the  impression  of 
Affinities  monotony.  The  charge  of  tediousness  which  has 
Xvalric  o^*^^  b^^n  brought  against  the  Faerie  Queene  is 
romance.  ^^^  ^^g^  ^^  ^.^p^j  ^^^^  j^  ^^  levelled  against  Spen- 
ser's descriptions  of  his  valiant  heroes'  physical  perils.^ 

But  there  is  much  else  in  the  poem  to  occupy  the  reader's 
mind.  Spenser's  design^  to  satisfy  the  primary  laws  of  epic, 
would  have  failed  had  he  allowed  it  to  hinge  alone  on  isolated 
Th  O  adventures  of  virtuous  knights,  of  knights  who  pur- 

andPrince  sued  their  careers  independently  of  one  another. 
From  the  epic  point  of  view  there  was  urgent  need 
of  welding  together  the  separate  episodes.  Great  as  is  the 
place  they  fill  in  the  story,  the  chivalric  types  of  the  moral 
virtues  are,  consequently,  not  its  only  protagonists.  With  a 
view  to  investing  the  whole  theme  with  homogeneity  and  unity 
the  poet  introduced  two  supreme  beings,  a  heroine  and  a  hero, 
to  whom  the  other  characters  are  always  subsidiary.  Each 
knight  is  the  subject  of  a  female  monarch,  the  Faerie  Queene, 
in  whose  person  flourish  all  human  excellences.  She  is  the 
worthy  object  of  every  manner  of  chivalric  adoration,  and  in 
her  name  all  chivalric  deeds  are  wrought.  In  this  royal  quin- 
tessence   of   virtue    Spenser,   with   courtier-like   complacency, 

1  Macaulay's  denunciation  of  the  monotony  of  the  poem  is  well  known. 
In  his  essay  on  Bunyan  he  writes : — '  Of  the  persons  who  read  the  first  canto, 
not  one  in  ten  reaches  the  end  of  the  first  book,  and  not  one  in  a  hundred 
perseveres  to  the  end  of  the  poem.  Very  few  and  very  weary  are  those  who 
are  in  at  the  end,  at  the  death  of  the  Blatant  Beast.'  This  criticism  only 
seems  just  with  qualifications,  and  it  is  impaired  by  the  inaccuracy  of  its 
final  words.  The  Blatant  Beast,  which  typifies  the  spirit  of  malice,  does 
not  die  in  the  sixth  and  last  completed  book  in  which  it  plays  its  stirring 
part.  The  knight  of  Courtesy,  Sir  Calidore,  makes  captive  of  the  monster, 
but  it  ultimately  escapes  its  chains,  and  in  the  concluding  stanzas  is  described 
as  ranging  through  the  world  again  without  restraint. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  201 

idealised  his  own  sovereign.  Queen  Elizabeth.  But  the  queen  of 
the  poem  is  not  quite  isolated  in  her  pre-eminence.  The  knights 
owe  allegiance  to  another  great  prince — to  Prince  Arthur,  in 
whom  the  twelve  private  moral  virtues  are  all  combined. 
Prince  Arthur  presents  Aristotle's  philosophical  idea  of 
magnanimity,  the  human  realisation  of  moral  perfectibility. 
This  perfect  type  of  mankind  was_,  according  to  Spenser's 
design,  to  intervene  actively  in  the  development  of  the  plot. 
He  was  to  meet  with  each  of  the  twelve  knights  when  they 
were  hard  pressed  by  their  vicious  foes,  and  by  his  superior 
powers  to  rescue  each  in  turn  from  destruction.  Nor  were 
these  labours  to  exhaust  the  prince's  function  in  the  machin- 
ery of  the  poem.  He  was  not  merely  to  act  as  the  providence 
of  the  knights.  He  was  allotted  a  romance  of  his  own.  He 
was  in  quest  of  a  fated  bride,  and  she  was  no  other  than 
the  Faerie  Queene. 

The    ground-plan    of    the    great    poem    proved    somewhat 
unwieldy.     The  singleness  of  scheme  at  which  Spenser  aimed 

in  subordinating  his  virtuous  knights  to  two  higher 

"Want  of 
powers,    the    i  aerie    Queene    and   Prince   Arthur,    homo- 
was   hardly   attained.      The  links   which   were  in-     ^^^^^  ^' 
vented    to    bind    the    books    together    proved    hardly    strong 
enough   to    bear   the    strain.      The    poet's    *  endeavours    after 
variety '   conquer   his   efforts   at   unity.      Each   of  the   extant 
books  might,  despite  all  the  author's   efforts,  be  easily  mis- 
taken for  an  independent  poem.     The  whole  work  may  fairly 
be  described  as  a  series  of  epic  poems  very  loosely  bound  one 
to  another.     It  is  scarcely  an  organic  whole.     The  amplitude 
of  scale  on  which  the  work  was  planned,  the  munificence  of 
detail  which   burdens   each   component   part,   destroys   in  the 
reader  the  sense  of  epic  unity. 

It  was  hardly  possible  to  obey  strictly  all  the  principles  of 
epic  art  while  serving  an  allegorical  purpose,  and  from  that 


202  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

allegorical  purpose  Spenser  never  consciously  departs.     He 

announced  in  his  opening  invocation  to  Clio  his  intention  to 

*  moralise '  his  song,  and  he  frequently  reminds 
The 

allegorical  his  reader  of  his  resolve.  His  heroes  and  hero- 
intention.  .  !./»/-, 

mes  are  not,  as  m  the  writmgs  of  Spenser  s  epic 
tutors,  mere  creatures  of  flesh  and  blood,  in  whose  material 
or  spiritual  fortune  the  reader's  interest  is  to  be  excited. 
In  the  poet's  mind  they  are  always  moving  abstractions  which 
illustrate  the  moral  laws  that  sway  human  affairs.  Truth, 
Falsehood,  Hypocrisy,  Mammon,  Pride,  Wantonness,  are  the 
actors  and  actresses  on  Spenser's  stage.  The  scenery  is  not 
inanimate  nature,  nor  dwellings  of  brick  and  stone.  The 
curtain  rises  now  on  the  Bower  of  Bliss;  now  on  the  Cave 
of  Despair;  now  on  the  House  of  Temperance.  The  poet 
seeks  to  present  a  gigantic  panorama  of  the  moral  dangers 
and  difficulties  that  beset  human  existence. 

To  manipulate  a  long-drawn  allegory  so  as  to  concentrate 
the  reader's  attention  on  its  significance,  and  to  keep  his 
Spenser  interest  at  all  seasons  thoroughly  alive,  is  a  diffi- 

Bunyan  ^"^^  task.     The  restraints  which  are  imposed  by 

compared.  ^^^  sustained  and  prolonged  pursuit  of  analogies 
between  the  moral  and  material  worlds  are  especially  oppres- 
sive to  the  spirit  of  a  poet  who  is  gifted  with  powers  of 
imagination  of  infinite  activity.  In  his  capacity  of  worker 
in  allegory  Spenser  falls  as  far  short  of  perfection  as  in 
his  capacity  of  worker  in  epic.  Only  one  Englishman  con- 
trived a  wholly  successful  allegory.  Spenser  was  not  he. 
John  Bunyan,  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  alone  among  Eng- 
lishmen possessed  just  that  definite  measure  of  imagination 
which  enabled  him  to  convert  with  absolute  sureness  personi- 
fications of  virtues  and  vices  into  speaking  likenesses  of  men 
and  women  and  places.  Bunyan's  great  exercise  in  the  alle- 
gorical art  is  rarely  disfigured  by  inconsistencies  or  incoher- 


EDMUND    SPENSER  203 

ences.  His  scenes  and  persons — Christian  and  Faithful,  The 
House  Beautiful  and  Vanity  Fair — while  they  are  perfectly 
true  to  analogy, — are  endowed  with  intelligible  and  life-like 
features.  The  moral  significance  is  never  doubtful,  while  the 
whole  picture  leaves  the  impression  of  a  masterpiece  of 
literary  fiction. 

Spenser's  force  of  imagination  was  far  wider  than  Bun- 
yan's.  His  culture  and  his  power  over  language  were  in- 
finitely greater.  But  Spenser  failed  where  Bunyan  succeeded, 
through  the  defect  of  his  qualities,  through  excess  of  capacity, 
through  the  diversity  of  his  interests,  through  the  discursive- 
ness of  his  imagination.  He  had  little  of  Bunyan's  singleness 
of  purpose,  simplicity  of  thought  and  faith,  or  faculty  of  self- 
suppression.  His  poetic  and  intellectual  ebullience  could  not 
confine  itself  to  the  comparatively  narrow  and  direct  path, 
pursuit  of  which  was  essential  to  perfection  in  allegory  and 
won  for  Bunyan  his  unique  triumph. 

Spenser's  interests  in  current  life  and  his  aesthetic  tempera- 
ment were  in  fact  too  alert  to  allow  him  to  confine  his  efforts 
to  the  search  after  moral  analogies.  Strong  as  influence 
was  his  moral  sense,  he  was  also  thrall  to  his  pas-  o^^sage. 
sion  for  beauty.  Few  manifestations  of  beauty  either  in 
nature  or  in  art  which  fell  within  his  cognisance  could 
he  pass  by  in  silence.  He  had  drunk  deep,  too,  of  the 
ideals  peculiar  to  his  own  epoch.  He  was  a  close  observer  of 
the  leading  events  and  personages  of  Elizabethan  history,  and 
in  defiance  of  the  laws  of  allegory  he  wove  into  the  web  of 
his  poetry  many  personal  impressions  of  contemporary  per- 
sonages and  movements,  which  had  no  just  home  in  a  moral 
or  philosophical  design  of  professedly  universal  application. 
Duessa,  the  hateful  witch  of  Falsehood,  who  endeavours 
to  mislead  the  Red  Cross  Knight  of  Holiness  (bk.  i.), 
and    seeks    another    victim    in    another    knight.    Sir    Scuda- 


204  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

more  (bk.  iv.)_,  is  no  universal  pattern  of  vice;  she  is 
Spenser's  interpretation  of  the  character  of  Mary,  Queen 
of  Scots.  Sir  Artegal,  the  Knight  of  Justice,  is  obviously  a 
portrait  of  Arthur,  Lord  Grey  of  Wilton,  Lord  Deputy  of 
Ireland,  whom  Spenser  served  as  secretary.  Elsewhere  there 
are  undisguised  references  to  the  poet's  painful  personal  rela- 
tion with  Lord  Treasurer  Burghley: — 

'The  rugged  forehead,  that  with  grave  foresight. 
Welds  kingdom's  causes  and  aflPairs  of  state.*  * 

Spenser  laments  that  he  had  incurred  this  '  mighty  peer's  dis- 
pleasure '  by  applying  himself  too  exclusively  to  tales  of 
love  (Bk.  VI.,  canto  xii.,  stanza  xli.).  Queen  Elizabeth  her- 
self constantly  appears  on  the  scene,  and  no  halo  of  allegory 
is  suffered  to  encircle  her.  Spenser  addresses  her  in  the  key 
of  adulation  which  is  a  conventional  note  of  the  panegyric  of 
princes,  but  is  altogether  out  of  harmony  with  a  broad  philo- 
sophic tone.  The  Queen  is  apostrophised  as  the  main  source 
of  the  poet's  inspiration: — 

*And  thou,  O  fairest  Princess  under  sky! 
In  this  fair  mirror  mayest  behold  thy  face. 
And  thine  own  realms  in  land  of  Fairy, 
And  in  this  antique  image  thy  great  ancestry.* ' 

In  another  passage  of  the  second  book  Prince  Arthur  and 
the  Knight  of  Temperance,  Sir  Guyon,  peruse  together  two 
old  books  called  respectively  The  Briton  Moniments  and  The 
Antiquity  of  Fairy  from  which  the  poet  pretends  to  draw  a 
chronicle  of  the  old  British  kings.  He  justifies  the  digression 
by  a  rapturous  panegyric  of  *  my  own  sovereign  queen,  thy 
realm  and  race,'  who  is  descended 

*From  mighty  kings  and  conquerors  in  war. 
Thy  fathers  and  great  grandfathers  of  old, 

Bk.  IV.,  introd.,  stanza  i.  « Bk.  ii.,  introd.,  stanza  iv. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  205 

Whose  noble  deeds  above  the  Northern  Star 
Immortal  fame  for  ever  hath  em-olled.'  ^ 

Nowhere  does  the  fervid  loyalty  of  the  Elizabethan  find 
more  literal  utterance  than  in  Spenser's  poem. 

However  zealous  a  worshipper  at  the  shrine  of  *  divine 
philosophy/  Spenser  was  deeply  moved  by  the  peculiar 
aspirations  which  fired  the  age,  and  the  prejudices  which  dis- 
torted its  judgment.  His  resolve  to  preach  morality  that 
should  be  of  universal  application  was  not  proof  against  such 
influences.  The  old  blind  woman  in  the  first  book,  counting 
her  beads  and  mumbling  her  nine  hundred  *  pater  nosters  ' 
and  nine  hundred  '  ave  marias,'  is  a  caricature  of  papistry.  It 
is  the  fruit  of  the  contemporary  Protestant  zeal  which  in- 
fected Spenser  and  his  circle  of  friends.  The  current  passion 
for  exploring  the  New  World  moves  the  poet  to  note  how 
every  day — 

'Through  hardy  enterprise 
Many  great  Regions  are  discovered. 
Which  to  late  age  were  never  mentioned. 
WTio  ever  heard  of  th'  Indian  Peru  ? 
Or  who  in  venturous  vessel  measured 
The  Amazon  huge  river,  now  found  true  ? 
Or  fruitf ullest  Virginia  who  did  ever  view  ?'  * 

Identifying  himself  with  a  popular  sentiment  of  the  day,  the 
poet  lays  stress  on  the  enlightened  argument  that  no  limits 
can  be  set  to  the  area  over  which  man's  energy  and  enterprise 
may  yet  gain  sway: — 

'  Yet  all  these  were,  when  no  man  did  them  know. 
Yet  have  from  wisest  ages  hidden  been; 
And  later  times  things  more  unknown  shall  show. 
Why  then  should  witless  man  so  much  misween. 
That  nothing  is  but  that  which  he  hath  seen  ? '  ^ 
»  Bk.  II.,  canto  x.,  stanza  iv.  2  3^   11,,  introd.,  stanza  ii. 

3  Bk.  II.,  introd.,  stanza  iii. 


206  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Such  digressions  and  interpolations  add  greatly  to  the 
poem's  charm  and  variety,  but  they  interrupt  the  flow  of 
the  allegorical  narrative  and  frankly  ignore  the  allegorical 
design. 

But  it  is  not  as  a  chivalric  story  nor  as  an  allegory,  it 
is  not  as  an  epic  narrative  nor  as  an  ethical  tractate,  nor 
rr^  X-  indeed  is  it  as  an  exposition  of  Elizabethan  ideals 
style.  and  sentiments,  that  Spenser's  poem  is  to  be  finally 

judged.  It  is  by  its  poetic  style  and  spirit  that  it  must  be 
appraised.  It  is  the  fertility  of  the  poet's  imagination,  the 
luxuriance  of  his  pictorial  imagery,  his  exceptional  command 
of  the  music  of  words,  which  give  the  Faerie  Queene  its 
highest  title  to  honour.  Despite  all  his  ethical  professions 
and  his  patriotic  zeal,  it  was  to  the  muse  of  poetry  alone  that 
Spenser  swore  unswerving  fealty.  The  spirit  of  his  work 
may  best  be  gauged  by  the  opening  stanza  of  his  sixth  and 
last  completed  book: — 

'The  ways  through  which  my  weary  steps  I  guide 
In  this  deUghtful  land  of  Fairy, 
Are  so  exceeding  spacious  and  wide. 
And  sprinkled  with  such  sweet  variety 
Of  all  that  pleasant  is  to  ear  or  eye. 
That  I,  nigh  ravished  with  rare  thought's  delight. 
My  tedious  travel  do  forget  thereby; 
And,  when  I  gin  to  feel  decay  of  might. 
It  strength  to  me  supplies  and  cheers  my  dulled  sprite. 

Such  secret  comfort  and  such  heavenly  pleasures, 

Ye  sacred  imps,  that  on  Parnassus  dwell, 

And  there  the  keeping  have  of  learning's  treasures 

Which  do  all  earthly  riches  far  excel. 

Into  the  minds  of  mortal  men  do  well, 

And  goodly  fury  into  them  infuse; 

Guide  ye  my  footing,  and  conduct  me  well, 

In  these  strange  ways,  where  never  foot  did  use, 

Ne  none  can  find  but  who  was  taught  them  by  the  Muse.* 


EDMUND    SPENSER  207 

His  quarry  is  '  all  that  pleasant  is  to  ear  or  eye/  He 
dwells  in  '  that  delightful  land  '  where  the  '  sacred  imps  *  of 
Parnassus  infuse  *  goodly  fury  '  into  the  minds  of  mortal  men. 
His  conception  of  happiness  is  to  be  '  nigh  ravished  with  rare 
thought's  delight.'  It  is  not  study  of  religion  or  philosophy 
or  politics  that  can  cheer  and  strengthen  his  '  dulled  sprite.' 
It  is  in  the  '  exceeding  spacious  and  wide  '  realms  of  beauty, 
which  are  only  accessible  to  the  poet's  imagination^  that  he 
finds  '  heavenly  pleasures.'  Spenser  abandoned  himself  reck- 
lessly to  the  pure  spirit  of  poetry.  Despite  the  diffuseness 
of  utterance  and  lack  of  artistic  restraint  which  were  inevita- 
ble in  so  fervid  a  votary  of  the  Muses,  Spenser,  in  his  Faerie 
Queene,  gave  being  to  as  noble  a  gallery  of  sublime  concep- 
tions, as  imposing  a  procession  of  poetic  images,  as  ever  came 
from  the  brain  of  man. 

The  form  of  Spenser's  verse  was  admirably  adapted  to  its 

purpose.     It  was  his  own  invention,  and  is  in  itself  striking 

testimony  to  the  originality  of  his  genius.     The 

Spenserian  stanza  was  ingeniously  formed  by  add-    Spenserian 

stanza. 
ing  an  Alexandrine,  a  line  in  twelve  syllables,  to 

the  eight  ten-syllabled  lines  of  the  stanza  which  was  popular 

in  France  under  the  name  of  '  Chant  royal,'  and  in  Italy  imder 

the  name  of  *  ottava  rima.'     Undoubtedly  there  is  in  Spenser's 

metrical    device    a    tendency    to    monotony    and    tediousness. 

Languor    would    seem    to    be    an    inevitable    characteristic. 

Dr.  Johnson  complained  that  the  stanza  was  *  tiresome  to  the 

ear   by   its   uniformity,   and  to   the   attention   by   its   length.* 

But  Spenser's  rare  poetic  instinct  enabled  him  to  hold  such 

defect  in  check  by  variety  in  the  pauses.     In  his  hands  the 

stanza  is  for  the  most  part  an  instrument  of  sus-    The  flow  of 

tained  spirit,  even  though  the  closing  Alexandrine    ^he  verse. 

imposes  a  gentle  and  leisurely  pace  on  the  progress  of  the 

verse.     One  stanza  glides  into  the  next  with  graceful,  natu- 


208  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

ral  flow  and  at  times  with  rapidity.  The  movement  has 
been  compared,  not  perhaps  quite  appositely,  to  that  of  the 
magic  gondola  which  Spenser  describes  in  his  account  of  the 
Lady  of  the  Idle  Lake;  the  vessel  slides 

'More  swift  than  swallow  shears  the  liquid  sky; 

It  cut  away  upon  the  jdelding  wave, 

Ne  cared  she  her  course  for  to  apply; 

For  it  was  taught  the  way  which  she  would  have, 

And  both  from  rocks  and  flats  itself  could  wisely  save.*  * 

Spenser  does  not  altogether  avoid  *  rocks  and  flats.'  Hor- 
ace Walpole  called  attention  to  a  certain  want  of  judgment 
in  devising  a  nine-line  stanza, — in  a  language  so  barren  of 
rhymes  as  the  English  tongue, — with  only  three  diflf'erent 
rhymes ;  of  these  one  is  twice  repeated,  the  second  three  times, 
and  the  third  four  times.  This  rhyming  difficulty  was  not 
capable  of  complete  mastery,  and  Spenser's  rhyming  failures 
are  not  inconspicuous.  There  are  in  every  canto  some  stanzas 
in  which  an  awkward  strain  is  put,  by  the  exigencies  of 
rhyme,  on  the  laws  of  syntax,  prosody  and  even  good  sense. 
But  the  great  passages  of  the  poem  are  singularly  free  from 
irregularities  of  metre,  and  fascinate  us  by  the  dexterity  of 
the  rhymes.  In  view  of  the  massive  proportions  of  the  work, 
Spenser's  metrical  success  moves  almost  boundless  admiration. 
In  the  Spenserian  stanza,  as  Spenser  handled  it,  are,  if  any- 
where, *  the  elegancy,  facility,  and  golden  cadence  of 
poetry.'  ^ 

1  Bk.  II.,  canto  vi.,  stanza  v. 

*  Every  canto  offers  examples  of  carelessness.  Turning  to  bk.  iv.,  canto 
ii.,  we  find  Spenser  in  a  single  stanza  (xxxiii.)  rhyming  'waste'  with  'de- 
faced' (which  is  spelt '  def aste '  in  order  to  cover  up  the  irregularity) ; '  writs ' 
for  purposes  of  rhyme  are  used  for  'writings,'  and  the  closing  Alexandrine 
sinks  to  such  awkward  tautology  as  this : — 

'  Sith  works  of  heavenly  wits 
Are  quite  devoured,  and  brought  to  naught  by  little  bits.* 

(Stanza  xxxiii.) 


EDMUND    SPENSER  209 

Spenser  in  the  Faerie  Queene,  as  in  his  earliest  poetic 
effort.  The  Shepheards  Calender,  deliberately  used  a  vocabu- 
lary that  was  archaic  for  its  own  day.  Many  con-  rj^^ 
temporary  critics  were  doubtful  of  his  wisdom,  vocabulary. 
The  poet  Daniel,  who  fully  recognised  Spenser's  genius, 
deemed  his  meaning  needlessly  obscured  by  '  aged  accents 
and  untimely  (i.e,  obsolete)  words.'  But  a  tendency  to 
preciosity,  a  predilection  for  the  unfamiliar,  a  passion  for 
what  was  out  of  date,  were  characteristic  of  Spenser's  faculty. 
Archaic  language  lent,  in  his  view,  the  beauty  of  mellowness 
to  his  work  and  removed  it  from  the  rawness  or  *  wearisome 
turmoil '  of  current  speech. 

It  was  his  filial  devotion  to  Chaucer  which  mainly  kept 
alive  Spenser's  love  for  archaisms  of  speech.  Chaucer's 
verse  had  from  earliest  days  lingered  in  his  mem-  rj.^^  ^^^^ 
ory,  and  he  occasionally  quotes  lines  of  his  prede-  to  Chaucer. 
cessor  word  for  word.^  In  book  iv.,  canto  ii.,  he  completes 
the  Squire's  Tale,  which  in  Chaucer's  text  was  left  unfinished. 
Spenser    fulfils    Chaucer's    promise   to    tell    of   the    chivalric 

In  stanza  lii.  the  Alexandrine  again  offends : — 

*  That  both  their  lives  may  likewise  be  annext 
Unto  the  third,  that  his  may  so  be  trebly  wext.' 

The  last  stanza  of  the  canto  ends  lamely  and  with  burlesque  effect,  thus  :— 

'  The  which,  for  length,  I  will  not  here  pursew, 
But  rather  will  reserve  it  for  a  Canto  new,' 

(Stanza  liv.) 
» With  Spenser's 

*  Ne  may  Love  be  compelled  by  mastery : 
For  soon  as  mastery  comes,  sweet  Love  anon 
Taketh  his  nimble  wings,  and  soon  away  is  gone.' 

(Bk.  III.,  canto  i.,  stanza  xxv.) 
compare  Chaucer's 

'Love  wolle  not  be  constreyn'd  by  maistery; 
When  maistery  cometh,  the  God  of  Love  anone 
Betith  his  winges,  and  farewell  he  is  gone. 

(Franklin's  Tale,  lines  2310-2.) 
O 


210  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

contests  in  which  suitors  for  the  hand  of  the  fair  Canace 
engaged.  This  episode  was  preluded  in  the  Faerie  Queene 
by  a  splendid  invocation  to  his  master^  to  revive  whose 
'  English  '  undefiled  was  one  of  his  primary  ambitions, 

*Dan  Chaucer,  well  of  English  undefiled. 
On  fame's  eternal  beadroll  worthy  to  be  filed. 

Then  pardon,  O  most  sacred  happy  spirit! 

That  I  thy  labours  lost  may  thus  revive, 

And  steal  from  thee  the  meed  of  thy  due  merit. 

That  none  durst  ever  whilst  thou  wast  alive, 

And  being  dead  in  vain  yet  many  strive: 

Ne  dare  I  like;  but,  through  infusion  sweet 

Of  thine  own  spirit  which  doth  in  me  survive, 

I  follow  here  the  footing  of  thy  feet. 

That  with  thy  meaning  so  I  may  the  rather  meet.'  * 

Spenser's  artistic  nature  was  many-sided.     Plato's  idealism, 

.         equally  with  Chaucer's  homely  gaiety  and  insight, 

tivenessto  moulded  his  mind.  But  his  varied  knowledge  of 
beauty. 

literature  and  philosophy  went  hand  in  hand  with  a 

different  type  of  endowment_, — a  sensuous  sensitiveness  to  ex- 
ternal aspects  of  nature. 

'Every  sight 
And  sound  from  the  vast  earth  and  ambient  air 
Sent  to  his  heart  its  choicest  impulses.' 

Especially  perfect  is  the  art  with  which  he  depicts  fountains 
and  rivers  and  oceans.  The  magical  canto  in  which  he 
describes  the  marriage  of  the  river  Thames  with  the  river 
Medway  is  rich  alike  in  classical  allusion  and  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  British  topography.  But  the  varied  learning  is 
fused  together  by  an  exuberance  of  pictorial  fancy  and 
sympathy  with  natural  scenery,  which  give  individuality  to 
almost  every  stream  that  may  have  come  within  the  poet's 

»  Bk.  IV.,  canto  ii.,  stanzas  xxxii.  and  xxxiv. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  211 

cognisance  either  in  literature  or  in  life.  Spenser's  power 
as  the  poet  of  nature  owes  its  finest  quality  to  his  rare  genius 
for  echoing  in  verse  the  varied  sounds  which  natural  phenom- 
ena produce  in  the  observer's  ear.  When  he  represents  a 
gentle  flowing  river,  the  metre  glides  with  a  corresponding 
placidity.  When  he  describes  a  tempestuous  wind,  the  words 
rush  onwards  with  an  unmistakable  roar.  In  the  familiar 
stanzas  which  follow  we  hear  in  living  harmonies  the  voices 
of  the  birds: — 

'Eftsoones  they  heard  a  most  melodious  sound, 
Of  all  that  mote  delight  a  dainty  ear. 
Such  as  at  once  might  not  on  living  ground, 
Save  in  the  Paradise,  be  heard  elsewhere: 
Right  hard  it  was  for  wight  which  did  it  hear. 
To  read  what  manner  music  that  mote  be. 
For  all  that  pleasing  is  to  living  ear 
Was  there  consorted  in  one  harmony; 
Birds,  voices,  instruments,  winds,  waters,  all  agree. 

The  joyous  birds,  shrouded  in  cheerful  shade 
Their  notes  unto  the  voice  attempred  sweet; 
Th'  Angehcal  soft  trembling  voices  made 
To  th'  instruments  divine  respondence  meet; 
The  silver  sounding  instruments  did  meet 
With  the  base  murmurs  of  the  waters  fall; 
The  waters  fall  with  difference  discreet. 
Now  soft,  now  loud,  unto  the  wind  did  call; 
The  gentle  warbling  wind  low  answered  to  all.*  * 

Spenser  did  not  depict  physical  beauty  in  men  or  women 
with  quite  the  same  abandonment  that  he  brought  to  the 
sights  and  sounds  of  earth  or  air.  But  although  Spenser 
studied  as  thoroughly  as  any  poet  the  aspects  of  physical 
beauty — 'the  goodly  hue  of  white  and  red  with  which  the 
cheeks  are  sprinkled ' — his  philosophic  idealism  would  seldom 

»  Bk.  II.,  canto  xii.,  stanzas  Ixx-lxxi. 


212  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

allow  him  to  content  himself  with  the  outward  appearance. 
To  him  as  to  Plato  the  fair  body  was  merely  the  external 
expression  of  an  inner  spiritual  or  ideal  beauty,  which  it  was 
the  duty  of  reasoning  man  to  worship: — 

*So  every  spirit,  as  it  is  most  pure 
And  hath  in  it  the  more  of  heavenly  light. 
So  it  the  fairer  body  doth  procure 
To  habit  in,  and  is  more  fairly  dight 
With  cheerful  grace  and  amiable  sight, 
For  of  the  soul  the  body  form  doth  take, 
For  soul  is  form,  and  doth  the  body  make.'  * 

Spenser's  influence  on  the  poetic  endeavours  of  his  own 
age  was  very  great.  Imitations  of  his  allegorical  method 
abounded,  and  one  at  least  of  his  disciples,  Phineas  Fletcher, 
Spenser's  produced  in  his  Purple  Island  an  elaborate  alle- 
influence.  gorical  description  of  the  human  body,  a  poem 
which,  despite  its  defects  and  dependence  on  the  Faerie 
Queene,  does  no  dishonour  to  its  source.  Charles  Lamb  justly 
called  Spenser  '  the  poet's  poet.'  Probably  no  poem  is 
qualified  equally  with  the  Faerie  Queene  to  endow  the  seeds 
of  poetic  genius  in  youthful  minds  with  active  life.  Cowley's 
confession  is  capable  of  much  pertinent  illustration  in  the 
biography  of  other  poets.  *  I  believe,'  wrote  Cowley,  '  I  can 
tell  the  particular  little  chance  that  filled  my  head  first  with 
such  chimes  of  verse  as  have  never  since  left  ringing  there; 
for  I  remember,  when  I  began  to  read  and  take  some  pleasure 
in  it,  there  was  wont  to  lie  in  my  mother's  parlour  (I  know 
not  by  what  accident,  for  she  herself  never  in  her  life  read 
any  book  but  of  devotion)  ;  but  there  was  wont  to  lie  Spenser's 
Works;  this  I  happened  to  fall  upon,  and  was  infinitely 
delighted  with  the  stories  of  the  knights  and  giants,  and 
monsters,  and  brave  horses  which  I  found  everywhere  there 

*  An  Hymne  in  Honour  of  Beautie,  11.  127-133. 


EDMUND    SPENSER  213 

(though  my  understanding  had  little  to  do  with  all  this)  ;  and 
by  degrees  with  the  tinkling  of  the  rhyme  and  dance  of  the 
numbers,  so  that  I  had  read  him  all  before  I  was  twelve  years 
old,  and  was  thus  made  a  poet.' 

The  variety  of  Spenser's    excellences   caused  his  work   to 
appeal  in  different  ways  to  different  men.     The  boy  Cowley 

was  fascinated  by  his  chivalric  tales  of  wonder  and 

The  variety 

the   ringing   harmony   of  his   verse.      Milton   was     of  his  excel- 
lences. 

chiefly  impressed  by  the  profundity  of  his  ideal 

philosophy;  Bunyan  by  his  moral  earnestness.  Dryden  did 
homage  to  him  as  his  master  in  poetic  speech,  although  he 
deemed  his  learning  his  crowning  merit.  In  the  eighteenth 
century  the  impulse  to  poetic  effort  which  was  inherent 
in  his  writings  showed  no  sign  of  decay.  James  Thomson 
and  Robert  Burns,  Shelley  and  Keats,  Byron  and  Campbell, 
worked  with  varying  skill  in  the  Spenserian  stanza,  and,  by 
the  uses  to  which  they  put  their  master's  metrical  instrument, 
added  to  the  masterpieces  of  English  poetry.  The  poems 
penned  in  the  stanza  of  the  Faerie  Queene  include  the  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night  by  Burns,  the  Eve  of  St.  Agnes  by  Keats,  and 
Childe  Harold  by  Byron,  and  all  reflect  glory  on  the  stanza's 
inventor.  But  Spenser's  work  is  an  inexhaustible  fountain 
of  poetic  inspiration,  and  none  can  define  the  limits  of  its 
influence. 


VI 

FRANCIS   BACON 

*  The  mind  is  the  man.  ...  A  man  is  but  what  he  knoweth.* 
Bacon,  Praise  of  Knowledge,  1592. 

[Bibliography. — Bacon's  Ufe  and  work  may  be  studied  in  full 
in  the  Life  and  Letters,  by  James  Spedding,  7  vols.,  1861-74, 
and  in  the  Works,  edited  by  J.  Spedding,  R.  L.  Ellis,  and  D.D. 
Heath,  7  vols.,  1857-9.  The  best  summary  of  his  life  and  work 
is  Francis  Bacon,  an  Account  of  his  Life  and  Works,  by  the  Rev. 
E.  A.  Abbott,  D.D.,  1885.  The  text  of  his  chief  English  writ- 
ings was  published  in  a  convenient  volume,  at  a  small  price, 
by  George  Newnes,  Limited,  in  1902.  Of  modern  annotated 
reprints  of  the  Essays,  those  edited  respectively  by  Dr.  Abbott 
(1879),  and  by  Samuel  Harvey  Reynolds  (Clarendon  Press, 
1890),  are  most  worthy  of  study.  A  valuable  Harmony  of  the 
Essays — the  text  of  the  four  chief  editions  in  parallel  columns — 
was  prepared  by  Professor  Edward  Arber  in  1869.  The  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning  was  edited  by  Dr.  Aldis  Wright  for  the 
Clarendon  Press  in  the  same  year.] 


We  now  approach  the  highest  but  one  of  the  peaks  of 
intellectual  greatness  which  were  scaled  in  England  by  sons 
of  the  Renaissance.     Spenser  was  a  great  poet  and  moralist, 

one  who  sought  to  teach  men  morality  by  means 
An  ascend- 
ing scale  of    of  poetry,  one  who  could  weave  words  into  har- 
greatness.  .  i  u    j  -     r 

monious  sequence,  one  who  could  draw  music  from 

ordinary  speech,  with  a  sureness  of  touch  that  only  two  or 
three  men  in  the  world's  history — Virgil,  perhaps,  alone 
among  the  classical  poets,  and  Milton  most  conspicuously 
among  the  modern  poets — have  excelled.  But  if  we  deduct 
214 


Francis  Bacon,  Viscount  St.  Alban. 

Frotn  the  portrait  by  Paul  \'an  Sonier  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery. 


FRANCIS    BACON  215 

Spenser's  aesthetic  power  and  moral  enthusiasm  from  the  sum 
of  his  achievement,  if  we  turn  to  measure  the  calibre  of 
Spenser's  intellect  or  the  width  of  his  mental  horizon,  if  we 
estimate  the  extent  by  which  he  advanced  human  thought 
beyond  the  limits  that  human  thought  had  already  com- 
manded, we  cannot  fail  to  admit  (difficult  as  any  precise  com- 
parison may  be)  that  Bacon,  with  whom  I  now  deal,  is 
Spenser's  intellectual  superior. 

Not  that  Bacon  himself  is  the  highest  peak  in  the  range 
of  sixteenth-century  English  enlightenment.  Giant  as  Bacon 
was  in  the  realm  of  mind,  in  the  empire  of  human  intellect, 
Shakespeare,  his  contemporary,  manifested  an  intellectual 
capacity  that  places  Bacon  himself  in  the  second  place. 

From  every  point  of  view  the  interval  that  separates  Bacon 
from  Shakespeare  is  a  wide  one.     An  illogical  tendency  has 
of  late  years  developed  in  undisciplined  minds  to 
detect  in  Bacon  and  Shakespeare  a  single  person-    and 
ality.      One    has    heard    of    brains    which,    when    spe^are's 
subjected  to  certain  excitements,  cause  their  pos-    fndhddu- 
sessors    to   see   double,   to   see   two   objects    when    ^^'*'^^" 
only  one  is  in  view;  but  it  is  equal  proof  of  unstable,  unsteady 
intellectual    balance    which    leads    a    man    or    woman    to    see 
single,  to  see  one  individuality  when  they  are  in  the  presence 
of  two  individualities,  each  definite  and  distinct.     The  intellect 
of  both  Shakespeare  and  Bacon  may  well  be  termed  miracu- 
lous.    The  facts  of  biography  may  be  unable  to  account  for 
the  emergence  of  the  one  or  the  other,  but  they  can  prove 
convincingly  that  no  two  great  minds  of  a  single  era  pursued 
literary  paths  more  widely  dissevered.      To  assume,  without 
an    iota    of    sound    evidence,    that    both    Shakespeare's    and 
Bacon's    intellect    were   housed    in    a    single    brain    is    unreal 
mockery.      It  is  an  irresponsibly   fantastic  dream  which  lies 
outside  the  limits  of  reason. 


gl6  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


II 

The  accessible  details  of  Bacon's  biography  are  more 
numerous  and  more  complicated  than  in  the  case  of  Shake- 
The  study  speare,  or  any  other  writer  of  the  age.  His  life, 
of  Bacon's  intellectually  and  materially,  is  fuller  of  known 
work.  incident;    his   writings   are   more   voluminous;   his 

extant  letters  and  private  memoranda  are  more  accessible. 
His  work  is  noble ;  his  life  is  ignoble.  But  in  order  to  under- 
stand his  intricate  character,  in  order  fully  to  appreciate  his 
psychological  interest,  in  order  fully  to  appreciate  his  place 
in  the  history  of  literature  and  science,  both  his  biography 
and  his  work  demand  almost  equally  close  study. 

Bacon  came  of  no  mean  stock.  His  father.  Sir  Nicholas 
Bacon,  was  Lord  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal,  the  chief  Law 
B  con's  Officer   of   England,  who   exercised  the   authority 

parents.  ^f  L^^d  High  Chancellor.     Sir  Nicholas  was  thus 

a  successor  of  Sir  Thomas  More.  He  was  of  a  merry,  easy- 
going disposition,  with  a  pronounced  love  of  literature  and 
a  gift  of  eloquent  speech.  He  freely  and  without  compunc- 
tion engaged  in  the  political  intrigue  which  infested  the 
Queen's  Court,  and  made  no  greater  pretence  than  his  con- 
temporaries to  superfine  political  virtue.  Bacon's  mother,  his 
father's  second  wife,  was  a  woman  of  paradoxical  character. 
Her  great  learning  and  scholarship  were  of  the  true  Renais- 
sance type;  she  was  at  home  in  most  of  the  classical  and  post- 
classical  authors  of  Greece  and  Rome.  But  her  main  char- 
acteristic was  a  fiery  religious  zeal.  She  belonged  to  the 
narrowest  and  least  amiable  sect  of  the  Calvinists,  and  her 
self-righteous  temper  led  her  to  rule  her  household  and  her 
children  with  a  crabbed  rigour  that  did  not  diminish  with  age. 
In   feature   Bacon   closely   resembled   his   stern-complexioned 


FRANCIS   BACON  217 

mother,  and  although  her  sour  pietism  did  not  descend  to 
him,  her  love  of  literature,  as  well  as  the  resolute  self-esteem 
which  her  creed  harboured  in  her,  was  woven  into  the  web 
of  his  character.  Lady  Bacon  was  highly  connected:  her 
sister  married  Lord  Burghley,  Queen  Elizabeth's  powerful 
Treasurer  and  Prime  Minister.  The  Prime  Minister  of  the 
day  therefore  stood  to  Bacon  in  the  relation  of  uncle. 

Bacon   thus   began   life   with   great   advantages.      He   was 

son   of  the   Lord   Chancellor   and  nephew  of  the 

His  advan- 

Prime  Minister.      It  is  difficult  in  England  to  be     tage  of 

birth. 

more   influentially   related.      His    family   was   not 

rich,  but  it  was  reasonably  provided  for.  As  far  as  social 
position  went,  he  could  not  have  been  better  placed. 

Francis  Bacon  was  born  in  1561  at  his  father's  official 
residence  in  London,  York  House  in  the  Strand,  of  which 
the  water-gate  alone  survives.  Queen  Elizabeth  girth  and 
had  come  to  the  throne  three  years  before.  Shake-  education 
speare  was  born  three  years  after.  When  he  was  a  child, 
before  he  was  thirteen.  Bacon  was  sent,  as  the  custom  then 
was,  to  a  university — to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  a 
recently  founded  institution  which  was  even  then  acquiring 
great  educational  traditions.  He  was  there  for  two  years, 
and  at  the  age  of  fifteen  returned  to  London  to  study  law. 

Bacon  was  an  extraordinarily  thoughtful  boy,  full  of  great 
ambitions,  all  lying  within  a  well-defined  compass.  He 
wished  to  be  a  great  man,  to  do  work  by  which  jjjg 
he  might  be  remembered,  to  do  work  that  should  Precocity. 
be  beneficial  to  the  human  race.  With  that  self-confidence 
which  he  owed  to  his  mother,  he  judged  himself  to  be,  almost 
from  childhood,  capable  of  improving  man's  reasoning 
faculties;  of  extending  the  range  of  man's  knowledge,  espe- 
cially his  knowledge  of  natural  science  and  the  causes  of 
natural  phenomena.     When  his   father   first  brought  him  to 


218  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

Court  as  a  boy,  the  Queen  was  impressed  by  his  thoughtful 
demeanour,  and  laughingly  dubbed  him,  in  allusion  to  his 
father's  office,  her  '  young  Lord  Keeper.'  It  is  difficult  to 
match  in  history — even  in  the  fertile  epoch  of  the  Renaissance 
— either  Bacon's  youthful  precocity,  or  the  closeness  and 
fidelity  with  which  he  kept  before  his  mind  through  life 
the  ambitions  which  he  formed  in  youth. 


Ill 

Three  impressionable  years  of  Bacon's  youth — from  his 
fifteenth  to  his  eighteenth  year — were  spent  at  the  English 
The  prof es-  embassy  in  Paris,  in  the  capacity  of  a  very  junior 
sionoflaw.  secretary.  The  experience  widened  his  outlook  on 
life,  and  gave  him  a  first  taste  of  diplomacy.  But  his  father 
had  destined  Francis  for  his  own  profession  of  law,  and  the 
lad  returned  to  England  to  follow  his  father's  wishes.  He 
worked  at  his  profession  with  industry.  But  it  excited  in  him 
no  enthusiasm.  He  regarded  it  as  a  means  to  an  end.  His 
father  died  when  Francis  was  eighteen.  His  example  en- 
dowed the  lad  with  the  belief  that  intrigue  was  the  key  to 
worldly  prosperity.  A  very  narrow  income  was  his  only 
tangible  bequest.  But  a  competence,  an  ample  supply  of 
money,  was  needful  if  Bacon  were  to  achieve  those  advances 
in  science,  if  he  were  to  carry  to  a  successful  issue  those  high 
resolves  to  extend  the  limit  of  human  knowledge  which  he 
Hjg  held  to  be  his  mission  in  life.     '  He  knew  himself,' 

idealism.  j^^  repeatedly  declared,  '  to  be  fitter  to  hold  a  book 
than  to  play  a  part  on  the  active  stage  of  affairs.'  For  affairs 
he  said  he  was  not  '  fit  by  Nature  and  more  unfit  by  the  pre- 
occupation of  his  mind.'  Yet  he  did  not  hesitate  to  seek  early 
admission  to   '  the  active  stage  of  affairs.'      His  nature  was 


FRANCIS   BACON  219 

so  framed  that  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  devote  himself  to  work 
in  the  world  in  which  he  felt  no  genuine  interest  in  order 
to  acquire  that  worldly  fortune,  that  worldly  posi-  -^^ 
tion  and  worldly  influence  without  which  he  ^materialism, 
regarded  it  to  be  impossible  to  carry  into  effect  his  intel- 
lectual ambition,  his  intellectual  mission.  Never  were 
materialism  and  idealism  woven  so  firmly  together  into  the 
texture  of  a  man's  being.  *  I  cannot  realise  the  great  ideal,' 
he  said  in  effect,  *  which  I  came  into  the  world  and  am  quali- 
fied to  reach,  imless  I  am  well  off  and  influential  in  the  merely 
material  way.'  The  inevitable  sequel  was  the  confession  that 
much  of  his  life  was  misspent  *  in  things  for  which  he  was 
least  fit,  so,  as  I  may  truly  say,  my  soul  hath  been  a  stranger 
in  the  course  of  my  pilgrimage.' 

The  profession  of  the  law  had  prizes  which  he  hoped  that 
the  influence  of  his  uncle,  the  Prime   Minister,  might  open 

to  him.     But  Lord  Burffhley,  unlike  English  offi- 

"  His  en- 

cers  of  state  of  later  periods,  was  not  always  eager     trance  into 

politics. 
to   aid  his  relatives,   and   Bacon's   early  hopes  of 

legal  preferment  were  not  fulfilled.      However,  when  Bacon 

was  twenty-three,  his  uncle  did  so  much  service  for  him  as 

to    secure    for   him   a   seat   in    Parliament.      He    entered    the 

House  of  Commons  in  1584,  and  he  remained  a  member  of 

the  House  for  more  than  thirty  years.     A  lawyer  in  England 

often    finds    it    extremely    advantageous    to    himself    in    the 

material  sense  to  identify  himself  with  politics  at  the  same 

time  as   he   practises   at  the  bar.      This   plan   Bacon   readily 

adopted.     He  at  once  flung  himself  into  the  discussion  of  the 

great   political   questions   of   the   day   in   the   same   spirit   as 

that  in  which  he  approached  the  profession  of  the  law.     At 

all   hazards   he   must   advance   himself,   he   must  build   up    a 

material  fortune.     If  the  intellectual  work  to  which  he  was 

called  were  to  be  done  at  all,  no  opportunity  of  securing  the 


220  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

material  wherewithal  was  he  justified  in  rejecting.  That  is 
the  principle  which  inspired  Bacon's  attitude  to  politics  as 
well  as  to  law;  that  is  the  principle  which  inspired  every 
action  of  his  life  outside  the  walls  of  his  study. 

Naturally  as  a  politician  he  became  an  opportunist.  His 
intellectual  abilities  enabled  him  to  form  enlightened  views 
His  attitude  ^^  political  questions,  views  in  advance  of  his  age. 
to  politics.  ]g^^  jjjg  i(jeal  was  not  in  politics.  His  scheme  of 
life  compelled  him  to  adapt  his  private  views  in  politics  to 
suit  the  views  of  those  in  authority,  so  as  to  gain  advance- 
ment from  them.  In  his  early  days  in  the  House  of  Commons 
he  sought  to  steer  a  middle  course — his  aim  being  so  to  express 
his  genuine  political  opinions  or  convictions,  which  were  wise 
in  themselves,  as  to  give  them  a  chance  of  acceptance  from 
those  in  authority.  He  urged  on  the  Government  the  wisdom 
of  toleration  in  matters  of  religion.  Aggressive  persecution 
of  minorities  appeared  to  him  in  his  heart  to  be  unstatesman- 
like  as  well  as  inhuman.  But  he  carefully  watched  the  im- 
pression his  views  created.  He  was  not  prepared  to  sacrifice 
any  chance  of  material  advancement  to  his  principles.  If 
his  own  political  views  proved  unacceptable  to  those  who  could 
help  him  on,  he  must  substitute  others  with  which  the  men 
of  influence  were  in  fuller  sympathy. 

Very  methodical  by  nature,  Bacon  systematised  as  a  young 

man  practical  rules  for  the  scheme  of  conduct  on  which  he  re- 

^  ,         lied  for  the  advancement  of  his  material  interests. 

His  work- 
ing scheme      and  for  the  consequent  acquisition  of  the  opportu- 
of  life. 

nity  of  working  out  his  philosophical  aims  in  the 

interests  of  mankind.   He  drew  up  a  series  of  maxims,  a  series 

of  precepts  for  getting  on,  for  bettering  one's  position — for 

the  architecture,  as  he  called  it,  of  one's  fortune.     Of  these 

precepts,  which  form  a  cynical  comment  on  Bacon's  character 

and  on  his  conception  of  social  intercourse,  this  much  may 


FRANCIS   BACON  221 

be  said  in  their  favour, — that  they  get  behind  the  screen  of 
conventional  hypocrisies.     They  are  not  wholly  original.     In 
spirit,  at  any  rate,  they  resemble  the  unblushing  counsel  which 
Machiavelli,   the   Florentine   statesman   and   historian   of   the 
sixteenth    century,    offered    to    politicians.       The  utility    of 
INIachiavellian    doctrines    Bacon's    father    had    acknowledged. 
MachiaveUi  and  his  kind  were  among  Bacon's  heroes:     *  We 
are  much  beholden  to   MachiaveUi  and  others,'  he  remarked 
in  the  Advancement  of  Learning,  '  that  wrote  what  men  do, 
not  what  they  ought  to  do.'     But  Bacon's  compendium  of  pro- 
verbial philosophy,  whatever   its   debt  to   others,  reveals  his 
individuality  as  clearly  as  anything  to  which  he  set  his  pen. 
Bacon   laid   it   down   that   the   best   way   to   enforce   one's 
views  upon  those  in  authority  was  by  appearing  to  agree  with 
them,  and  by  avoiding  any  declared  disagreement    jjjg 
with  them.     '  Avoid  repulse,'  he  said ;  '  never  row     Precepts, 
against  the  stream.'     Practise  deceit,  dissimulation,  whenever 
it  can  be  made  to  pay,  but  at  the  same  time  secure  the  repu- 
tation of  being  honest  and  outspoken.      '  Have   openness   in 
fame  and  repute,  secrecy  in  habit;  dissimulation  in  seasonable 
use,  and  a  power  to  feign  if  there  be  no  remedy;  mixture  of 
falsehood  is  like  alloy  in  coin  of  gold  and  silver  which  may 
make  the  metal  work  better.'     Always  show  off  your  abilities 
to   the   best   advantage;   always   try   to   do   better   than   your 
neighbours.     But  on  none  of  his  rules  of  conduct  does  Bacon 
lay  greater  stress,  than  on  the  suggestion  that  the  best  and 
most  rapid  way  of  geting  on  is  to  accommodate    The  uses  of 
oneself  to  the  ways  of  great  men,  to  bind  oneself    great  inen. 
hand  and  foot  to  great  men.     This  rule  Bacon  sought  with 
varying  success  to  put  into  practice  many  times   during  his 
Hfe. 


222  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN. 


nr 

In  1591,  when  Bacon  was  thirty,  a  first  opportunity  of 
coming  advancement  through  intimate  association  with  a  man 
of  position  seemed  to  present  itself.  He  obtained  an  intro- 
duction to  a  young  nobleman  of  great  ambition  and  no 
little  influence,  the  Earl  of  Essex.     He  was  Bacon's  junior 

by  six  years.     He  was  as  passionate  and  impulsive 
Bacon's 

relations  a  young  gentleman  as  could  be  found  among 
with  Essex,      -r^-,       -.      , 

Elizabethans,   but   he   was   not  altogether  without 

consciousness  of  his  own  defects.  He  was  not  blind  to  the 
worth  of  sobriety  and  foresight  in  others.  The  cool  and 
wary  good  sense  of  Bacon  attracted  him;  Bacon's  abilities 
impressed  him.  Bacon  deliberately  planned  his  relationship 
with  Essex  to  secure  his  own  preferment.  He  attached  him- 
self to  Essex,  he  said,  *  in  a  manner  which  happeneth  rarely 
among  men/  He  would  do  the  best  he  could  with  him  in  all 
ways.  Essex  might  prove  a  fit  instrument  to  do  good  to  the 
State  as  well  as  to  himself.  He  would  persuade  Essex  to 
carry  through  certain  political  reforms  which  required  great 
personal  influence  to  bring  them  to  the  serious  notice  of  the 
authorities.  At  he  same  time  Essex  was  either  to  secure  for 
his  mentor  dignified  and  remunerative  office,  or  to  be  swept 
out  of  his  path. 

The  first  episode  of  the  partnership  was  not  promising. 
The    high    legal    office    of    Attorney-General     fell    vacant. 

Bacon's  enthusiastic  patron,  Essex,  was  readily  in- 
Anun-  I'  J  >  J 

promising  duced  to  apply  for  the  post  in  Bacon's  behalf, 
opening. 

But  Essex  met  with  a  serious  rebuff".     A  deaf  ear 

was  turned  by  the  Queen  and  the  Prime  Minister  to  the  pro- 
posal. Essex  was  as  disappointed  as  Bacon  himself.  He 
quixotically  judged  himself  in  honour  bound  to  compensate 


FRANCIS   BACON  223 

Bacon  for  the  loss.  He  gave  him  a  piece  of  land  at  Twick- 
enham^ which  Bacon  afterwards  sold  for  ,£1800.  For  a 
moment  this  failure  damited  Bacon.  After  so  discouraging 
an  experience  he  seriously  considered  with  himself  whether 
it  were  not  wiser  for  him  altogether  to  forsake  the  law^  the 
prizes  in  which  seemed  beyond  his  reach^  and  devote  himself 
entirely  to  the  scientific  study  which  was  his  true  end  in  life. 
It  would  have  been  better  for  his  fame  had  he  yielded  to  the 
promptings  of  the  inner  voice.  But  he  was  in  need  of  money. 
With  conscious  misgivings  he  resolved  to  keep  to  the  difficult 
path  on  which  he  had  embarked. 

The  outlook  did  not  immediately   grow  brighter.      Closer 
acquaintance  with   Essex  convinced  Bacon   that  he  was   not 
the  man  either  to  carry  through  any  far-reaching 
political  reforms  or  to  aid  his  own  advancement,     appoints 
He    was    proving    himself    captious    and    jealous- 
tempered.     He  was  not  maintaining  his  hold  upon  the  queen's 
favour.      Bacon  energetically  urged   on  him  petty  tricks   of 
conduct  whereby  he  might  win  and  retain  the  queen's  favour. 
He  drew  up  a  series  of  obsequious  speeches  which  would  fit  a 
courtier's  lips  and  might  convince  a  sovereign  that  the  man 
who  spoke  them  to  her  deserved  her  confidence. 

Finally  Bacon  sought  a  bold  means  of  release  from  a 
doubtful  situation.  He  thoroughly  appreciated  the  difficult 
problem  which  the  government  of  Ireland  offered 
Elizabethan  statesmen^  and  he  plainly  told  Essex  ment  oT^^" 
that  Ireland  was  his  destiny;  Ireland  was  'one  of  ■^^^^^^• 
the  aptest  particulars  for  your  Lordship  to  purchase  honour 
on.'  Bacon  steadily  pressed  his  patron  to  seek  the  embar- 
rassing post  of  Governor  or  Lord-Deputy  of  the  distracted 
country.  The  counsel  took  effect.  The  arduous  office  was 
conferred  on  Essex.  His  patron's  case,  as  it  presented  itself 
to  Bacon's  tortuous  mind,  was  one  of  kill  or  cure.     Glory  was 


224.  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

to  be  gained'  by  pacifying  Ireland,  by  bringing  her  under 
peaceful  rule.  Infamy,  enforced  withdrawal  from  public 
life,  was  the  reward  of  failure.  The  task  was  admittedly 
hard,  and  called  for  greater  prudence  than  any  of  which 
Essex  had  yet  given  signs.  But  Bacon,  from  his  point  of 
view,  thought  it  desirable  that  Essex  should  have  the  op- 
portunity of  achieving  some  definite  triumph  in  life  which 
would  render  his  future  influence  supreme.  Or  if  he  were 
incapable  of  conspicuous  success  in  life,  then  the  more  patent 
his  inefficiency  became,  and  the  quicker  he  was  set  on  one 
side,  the  better  for  his  protege's  future. 

Essex  completely  failed  in  Ireland,  and  he  was  ordered 
to  answer  for  his  conduct  in  the  arbitrary  Court  of  the  Star 
Downfall  Chamber.  Thereupon  Bacon  set  to  work  with 
of  Essex.  Machiavellian  skill  to  turn  an  apparently  unprom- 
ising situation  to  his  own  advantage.  He  sought  and  ob- 
tained permission  to  appear  at  the  inquiry  into  Essex's  con- 
duct as  one  of  the  Counsel  for  the  Crown.  He  protested  to 
the  end  that  he  was  really  working  diplomatically  in  Essex's 
behalf,  but  he  revealed  the  secret  of  his  conduct  when  he 
also  plainly  told  Essex  that  the  queen's  favour  was  after  all 
more  valuable  to  him  than  the  earl's.  His  further  guarded 
comment  that  he  loved  few  persons  better  than  his  patron 
struck  a  hardly  less  cynical  note. 

Essex  was  ultimately  released  from  imprisonment  on  pa- 
role ;  but  he  then  embarked  on  very  violent  courses.  He  sought 
Essex's  ^  ^^^^  ^P  ^  rebellion  against  the   queen  and  her 

death.  advisers  in  London.     He  placed  himself  in  a  posi- 

tion which  exposed  him  to  the  penalties  of  high  treason. 
Bacon  again  sought  advantage  from  his  patron's  errors.  He 
again  appeared  for  the  Crown  at  Essex's  formal  trial  on 
the  capital  charge  of  treason.  His  advocacy  did  much  to 
bring    Essex's    guilt    home    to    the    judges.      With    inhuman 


FRANCIS   BACON  225 

coolness  Bacon  addressed  himself  to  the  prisoner,  and  ex- 
plained to  him  the  heaviness  of  his  offence.  Finally  Essex  was 
condemned  to  death  and  was  executed  on  25th  February,  I6OI. 
Bacon  sacrificed  all  ordinary  considerations  of  honour  in 
his  treatment  of  Essex.  But  his  principles  of  active  life 
deprived  friendship  of  meaning  for  him.  The  material  bene- 
fit to  be  derived  by  one  man  from  association  with  d  » 
another  alone  entered  into  his  scheme  of  self-  Perfidy, 
advancement,  and  self-advancement  was  the  only  principle 
which  he  understood  to  govern  *  the  active  stage  of  affairs.* 


The  death  of  Elizabeth  opened  new  prospects  to  Bacon, 
but  the  story  of  his  life  followed  its  old  drift.  He  naturally 
sought  the  favour  of  the  new  king,  James  i.  Bacon  and 
Naturally  he  would  accommodate  his  own  politi-  ''^^esi. 
cal  opinions  to  those  of  the  new  king.  The  royal  influence 
must,  if  it  were  possible,  be  drawn  his  way,  be  drawn  towards 
him,  be  pressed  into  his  individual  service.  Bacon  probably  at 
the  outset  had  hopes  of  inducing  the  king  to  accept  and  act 
upon  the  good  counsel  that  he  should  offer  him,  just  as  at  the 
opening  of  their  relations  he  thought  it  possible  that  he 
might  lead  Essex  to  take  his  enlightened  advice.  It  was 
reported  that  the  king  was  not  devoid  of  large  ideas.  Bacon, 
who  was  never  a  good  judge  of  men,  may  have  credited  the 
report.  He  may  not  have  seen  at  first  that  James  was  with- 
out earnest  purpose  in  life;  that  the  king's  intellect  was  cast 
in  a  narrow  mould;  that  an  extravagant  sense  of  his  own 
importance  mainly  dominated  its  working.  Yet  there  was  this 
excuse  for  Bacon's  misapprehension.  James  was  inquisi- 
tively minded.  He  was  at  times  willing  to  listen  to  the  ex- 
position of  good  principles,  however  great  his  disinclination 
to  put  them  into  practice. 

P 


226  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

By  way  of  experiment.  Bacon  at  the  outset  proffered  King 
James  i.  some  wise  counsel.  He  repeated  his  old  arguments 
Ad\dceto  ^^^  toleration  in  matters  of  religion.  Bacon  set 
the  king.  forth  these  views  as  mere  ballons  d'essai,  as  straws 
to  show  him  which  way  the  wind  blew.  As  soon  as  Bacon 
saw  that  the  wind  in  the  royal  quarter  was  not  blowing  in 
the  direction  of  toleration,  he  tacked  about  to  win  the  breeze 
of  royal  approval  some  other  way.  He  supported  persecu- 
tion. Happily  another  proposal  of  his  was  grateful  to  the 
new  king.  Bacon  recommended  a  political  union,  a  political 
amalgamation  of  the  two  kingdoms  of  England  and  Scot- 
land, of  both  of  which  James  was  now  king.  It  was  a  wise 
plan  in  the  circumstances,  and  one  entirely  congenial  to  the 
new  Scottish  monarch  of  England.  James  was  not  slow  to 
mark  his  approval  of  Bacon's  advice  on  the  point,  and  Bacon's 
material  prospects  brightened. 

James's  reign  was  a  critical  period  in  English  history. 
Bacon's  depth  of  intellectual  vision  enabled  him  to  foresee, 

perhaps  more  clearly  than  any  other  man  of  his 
The 

political  age,  the  growing  danger  of  a  breach  between  the 
situation. 

kmg  and  the  people  s  representatives  m  the  House 

of  Commons.  The  English  people  was  learning  its  political 
strength;  the  English  people  was  learning  the  value  of 
personal  liberty,  although  the  mass  of  them  only  hazily 
recognised  the  importance  of  self-government.  Sir  Walter 
Ralegh  had  enunciated  the  principle  that  *  in  every  just  state 
some  part  of  the  government  is  or  ought  to  be  imparted  to 
the  people.'  There  was  a  growing  conviction  that  government 
for  the  good  of  the  many,  rather  than  for  the  good  of  any 
one  man,  was  essential  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  life.  Gov- 
ernment for  the  good  of  a  sovereign  who  failed  to  move  in 
the  people  any  personal  enthusiasm  was  certain  to  prove 
sooner  or  later  an  intolerable  burden.     Bacon  acknowledged 


FRANCIS   BACON  227 

it  to  be  the  duty  of  a  true  statesman  to  seek  to  reconcile  the 
two  conflicting  forces,  the  power  of  the  king  and  the  reasona- 
ble claims  of  the  people.  He  had  no  faith  in  democracy; 
he  believed  in  the  one-man  rule  probably  as  sincerely  as  he 
believed  in  any  political  principle.  The  future  peace  of  the 
country  depended,  in  Bacon's  view,  on  the  king — on  his 
power  and  will  to  dispense  equal  justice  among  his  subjects, 
and  to  conform  to  his  subjects'  just  wishes  on  matters  affecting 
their  personal  liberties.  The  king  should  be  persuaded  to 
exert  his  power  and  will  to  this  end.  But  the  problem  of 
how  best  to  reconcile  king  and  people  was  not  one  that  could 
be  solved  by  mere  assumption  of  the  king's  benevolent  in- 
tentions. Unless  a  man  championed  great  principles,  and 
applied  them  to  the  problem  without  fear  of  forfeiting  royal 
favour,  he  wasted  breath  and  ink.  Bacon  had  no  intention 
of  imperilling  his  relations  with  the  king,  of  sacrificing  his 
personal  chances  of  preferment.  However  clearly  he  may 
have  diagnosed  the  situation,  he  had  not  moral  fibre  enough 
materially  to  shape  its  course  of  development. 


VI 

Bacon  was  eager  to  derive  personal  profit  from  any  turn 
of  the  political  wheel.  Yet  with  the  singular  versatility  that 
characterised  him,  he,  amid  all  the  bustle  of  the  Ljterar 
political  world  in  which  he  had  immersed  himself,  occupations. 
found  time  to  pursue  his  true  vocation.  Before  Queen  Eliza- 
beth died  he  had  produced  the  first  edition  of  his  Essays, 
those  terse  observations  on  life  which  placed  him  in  the  first 
rank  of  Elizabethan  men  of  letters.^     They  were  penetrating 

» The  first  edition  of  the  Essays  appeared  in  1597,  and  consisted  only  of 
ten  essays  together  with  two  pieces  called  respectively '  Sacred  Meditations/ 
and  '  Colours  of  Good  and  Evil.'  This  volume  was  reprinted  without  altera- 
tion in  1598  and  1606.     A  revised  version  which  came  out  in  1612  brought 


228  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

reflections  on  human  nature  and  conduct  which  seemed  to  come 
from  a  sober  observer  of  affairs^  from  one  of  infinitely  varied 
experience^  from  a  thinker  not  unduly  biassed  by  his  material 
interests.  Revision  and  enlargement  of  his  Essays  constantly 
occupied  Bacon's  scanty  leisure  till  his  death. 

In  l605_,  two  years  after  James's  accession^  there  appeared 
a  far  more  convincing  proof  of  disinterested  devotion  to 
things  of  the  mind.  Bacon  then  published  his  greatest  con- 
tribution in  English  to  philosophical  literature,  his  Advance- 
ment of  Learning.  It  was  a  popular  work,  treating  elo- 
quently of  the  excellence  of  knowledge  and  noting  in  detail 
the  sufficiency  and  insufficiency  of  its  present  state.  Bacon 
surveyed  fairly  and  sagaciously  all  existing  departments  of 
knowledge,  and  indicated  where  progress  was  most  essential. 
The  noble  volume  was  intended  to  prepare  the  minds  of 
readers  for  the  greater  venture  which  absorbed  Bacon's 
thoughts,  the  exposition  of  a  new  philosophy,  a  new  instru- 
ment of  thought,  the  Novum  Organum.  This  new  instrument 
designed  first  to  enable  man  to  interpret  nature  and  thereby 
realise  of  what  the  forces  of  nature  were  capable,  and  then 
to  give  him  the  power  of  adapting  those  forces  to  his 
own  purposes.  In  the  completion  of  that  great  design  lay 
Bacon's  genuine  ambition;  from  birth  to  death,  political 
office,  the  rewards  of  the  legal  profession,  money  profits, 
anxious  as  he  was  to  win  them,  were  means  to  serve  his  attain- 
ment of  that  great  end.     All  material  successes  in  life  were 

the  number  of  essays  up  to  thirty-eight.  Other  editions  followed,  including 
a  Latin  translation  by  the  author  and  translations  by  Enghsh  friends  into 
both  Italian  and  French.  The  final  edition,  the  publication  of  which  Bacon 
superintended,  is  dated  1625  (the  year  before  his  death),  and  supplied  as 
many  as  fifty-eight  essays.  An  addition  to  the  collection,  a  fragment  of  an 
essay  of  '  Fame,'  appeared  posthumously.  This  was  included  by  Dr.  Will- 
iam Rawley,  Bacon's  chaplain,  into  whose  hands  his  master's  manuscripts 
passed  at  his  death,  in  the  miscellaneous  voliime  which  Rawley  edited  in 
1657  under  the  title  of  Resuscitatio. 


FRANCIS   BACON  229 

in  his  view  crude  earthworks   which  protected  from   assault 

and  preserved  intact  the  citadel  of  his  being. 

Slowly  but  surely  the  material  recognition,  the  emoluments 

for  which  he  hungered,  came  Bacon's  way.     In  1606,  at  the 

age  of  forty-five,  he  married.     His  wife  was  the 

Marriage, 
daughter  of  an  alderman  in  the  city  of  London, 

and  brought  him  a  good  dowry.  Little  is  known  of  Bacon's 
domestic  life,  and  some  mystery  overhangs  its  close.  He  had 
no  children,  but  according  to  his  earliest  biographer  he  was 
a  considerate  and  generous  husband.^  In  the  last  year  of  his 
life,  however,  he  believed  he  had  serious  ground  of  complaint 
against  his  wife,  and  the  munificent  provision  which  he  made 
for  her  in  the  text  of  his  will  he  in  a  concluding  paragraph, 
*  for  just  and  grave  causes,  utterly  revoked  and  made  void, 
leaving  her  to  her  right  only.'  He  acquired  a  love  of  magnifi- 
cence in  his  domestic  life,  which  he  indulged  to  an  extent 
that  caused  him  pecuniary  embarrassments.  It  was  soon 
after  he  entered  the  estate  of  matrimony  that  he  put  in  order, 
at  vast  expense,  the  property  at  Gorhambury,  near  St. 
Albans,  which  his  father  had  acquired,  and  he  built  upon 
the  land  there  a  new  country  residence  of  great  dimensions, 
Verulam  House.  In  the  decoration  and  furnishing  of  the 
mansion  he  spent  far  more  than  he  could  afford.  There  he 
maintained  a  retinue  of  servants  the  number  of  whom,  it  was 
said,  was  hardly  exceeded  in  the  palace  of  the  king. 

Bacon's  material  resources  rapidly  grew  after  his  marriage. 

1  Dr.  William  Rawley,  Bacon's  chaplain,  in  his  Life,  ed.  1670,  p.  6,  writes 
with  some  obvious  economy  of  truth: — 'Neither  did  the  want  of  children 
detract  from  his  good  usage  of  his  consort  during  the  intermarriage;  whom 
he  prosecuted,  with  much  conjugal  love  and  respect:  with  many  rich  gifts, 
and  endowments;  besides  a  robe  of  honour,  which  he  invested  her  withal: 
which  she  wore  until  her  dying  day,  being  twenty  years  and  more,  after  his 
death.'  According  to  Aubrey,  after  Bacon's  death  she  married  her  gentle- 
man-usher, Sir  Thomas  Underbill,  and  survived  the  execution  of  Charles  i. 
in  1649. 


230  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

A  year  later  he  received  his  first  official  promotion.  In  l607 
he  was  made  Solicitor-General,  a  high  legal  office,  and  one  well 
His  first  remunerated.     He  had  waited  long  for  such  con- 

promotion,  spicuous  advancement.  He  was  now  forty-six 
years  old,  and  the  triumph  did  not  cause  him  undue  elation. 
He  suffered,  he  writes,  much  depression  during  the  months 
that  followed.  But  his  ambition  was  far  from  satiated. 
Attorney-  ^  repetition  of  the  experience  happily  brought 
General.  j^jjj^   greater   content.      Six   years   later,    at   fifty- 

two,  he  was  promoted  to  the  more  responsible  and  more  highly 
remunerated  office  of  Attorney-General. 


VII 

The  breach  between  the  king  and  his  people  was  meanwhile 
widening.  The  Commons  were  reluctant  to  grant  the  king's 
Thepoliti-  demand  for  money  without  exacting  guarantees  of 
calpenl.  honest  government — guarantees  for  the  expendi- 
ture of  the  people's  money  in  a  way  that  should  benefit  them. 
Such  demands  and  criticism  the  king  warmly  resented.  He 
was  bent  on  ruling  autocratically.  He  would  draw  taxes 
from  his  people  at  his  unfettered  will.  The  hopelessness  of 
expecting  genuine  benefit  to  the  nation  from  James's  exercise 
of  authority  was  now  apparent.  Had  Bacon  been  a  high- 
minded,  disinterested  politician,  withdrawal  from  the  king's 
service  would  have  been  the  only  course  open  to  him;  but  he 
had  an  instinctive  respect  for  authority,  his  private  expenses 
were  mounting  high,  and  he  was  at  length  reaping  pecuniary 
rewards  in  the  legal  and  political  spheres.  Bacon  deliber- 
ately chose  the  worser  way.  He  abandoned  in  practice  the 
last  shreds  of  his  political  principles;  he  gave  up  all  hope 
of  bringing  about  an  accommodation  on  lines  of  right  and 
justice  between  the  king  and  the  people.     He  made  up  his 


FRANCIS   BACON  231 

mind  to  remain  a  servant  of  the  crown,  with  the  single  and 
unpraiseworthy  end  of  benefiting  his  own  pocket. 

Tricks  and  subterfuges,  dissimulation,  evasion,  were  thence- 
forth Bacon's  political  resources.  He  soon  sought  assidu- 
ously the  favour  of  the  king's  new  and  worthless  favourite, 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  For  a  fleeting  moment  he  seems 
to  have  tried  to  deceive  himself,  as  he  had  tried  to  deceive 

himself  in   the   case   of   Essex  and  of  the  king_, 

Bacon  and 
into    the    notion    that    this    selfish,    unprincipled    Bucking- 
courtier   might   impress   a   statesmanlike   ideal   on 
the    king's    government.      Bacon    offered    Buckingham    some 
advice  under  this  misconception.     But  Bacon  quickly  recog- 
nised his  error.     The  good  counsel  was  not  repeated.      He 
finally  abandoned  himself  exclusively  to  the  language  of  un- 
blushing adulation   in  his   intercourse  with  the   favourite  in 
order  to  benefit  by  the  favourite's  influence. 

Bacon's  policy  gained  him  all  the  success  that  he  could 
have  looked  for.  A  greater  promotion  than  any  he  had  en- 
joyed soon  befell  him.  The  Lord  Keepership  of  -^^j.^ 
the  Great  Seal,  the  highest  legal  office,  to  which  Keeper, 
belonged  the  functions  of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  became  vacant. 
It  was  the  post  which  Bacon's  father  had  filled,  and  the  son 
proposed  himself  to  Buckingham  as  a  candidate.  Bacon 
secured,  in  l6l7,  the  lofty  dignity  on  the  sole  ground  that  the 
favourite  thought  he  might  prove  a  useful,  subservient  tool. 
But  a  rough  justice  governed  the  political  world  even  in  James 
i.'s  reign.     Bacon's  elevation  to  the  high  office  proved  his  ruin. 

Bacon  was  now  not  only  the  foremost  judge  in  the  land, 
but  was  also  chief  member  of  the  King's  Council.     LordVeru- 
He  had  become,  however,  the  mere  creature  of  the    yJ^coSnt 
crown,  and  all  his  political  intelligence  he  suff'ered     ^*-  Alban. 
to  run  to  waste.     The  favourite,  Buckingham,  was  supreme 
with  the  king,   and   Bacon   played   a   very   subordinate   part 


232  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

in  discussions  of  high  policy.  He  obsequiously  assente3 
to  measures  which  he  knew  to  be  disastrous,  and  even  sub- 
mitted meekly  to  the  personal  humiliations  which  subservience 
to  Buckingham — an  exacting  master — required.  For  a  time 
his  pusillanimity  continued  to  bring  rewards.  In  I6I8  he  was 
raised  to  the  peerage,  as  Baron  Verulam;  in  I619  he  ex- 
changed, without  alteration  of  function,  the  title  of  Lord 
Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal  for  the  more  dignified  style  of 
Lord  High  Chancellor  of  England.  Two  years  later  he 
was  advanced  to  a  higher  rank  of  nobility  as  Viscount  St. 
Alban.  His  paternal  estate,  on  which  he  had  built  his  sump- 
tuous pleasure-house,  lay  near  the  city  of  St.  Albans,  and 
that  city  occupied  the  site  of  the  Roman  city  of  Verulamium. 
He  felt  a  scholar's  pride  in  associating  his  name  with  a  relic 
of  ancient  Rome. 

It  may  be  admitted  that  Bacon's  quick  intelligence  ren- 
dered him  a  very  efficient  and  rapid  judge  in  his  court,  the 
Hisjudi-  Court  of  Chancery.  He  rapidly  cleared  off  ar- 
cial  work.  rears  of  business,  and  seems  to  have  done  as  a 
rule  substantial  justice  to  suitors.  But  he  was  not,  even 
in  his  own  court,  his  own  master.  The  favourite,  Bucking- 
ham, inundated  him  with  letters  requesting  him  to  show 
favour  to  friends  of  his  who  were  interested  in  causes  in 
Bacon's  court.  Bacon's  moral  sense  was  too  weak  to  permit 
resistance  to  the  favourite's  insolent  demands. 

Bacon's  moral  perception  was  indeed  blurred  past  recov- 
ery.     Servility   to   the   king   and   his    favourite   had   obvious 

dangers,  of  which  he  failed  to  take  note.     Resent- 
Theap-  ^       ' 

preaching  ment  was  rising  in  the  country  against  the  royal 
danger. 

power,  and  that  rebellious   sentiment  was   certam 

sooner  or  later  to  threaten  with  disaster  those  who  for  worldly 
gain  bartered  their  souls  to  the  king  and  his  minion.  The 
wheel  was  coming  full  circle. 


FRANCIS   BACON  233 


VIII 

Yet  SQ  full  of  contradiction  is  Bacon's  career,  that  it  was 

when  he  stood  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  ruin  which  was  to 

destroy   his   worldly   fortune   and   repute  that  he 

^  1  The  Novum 

crowned  the  edifice  of  his  philosophical  ambition     Organum, 

11  1  1  1    11  1  1^20. 

which    was     to     bring     him     imperishable     glory. 

In  1620  he  published  his  elaborate  Latin  treatise.  Novum 
Organum.  It  is  only  a  fragment — an  unfinished  second  in- 
stalment— of  that  projected  encyclopaedia  in  which  he  de- 
signed to  unfold  the  innermost  secrets  of  nature.  But  such 
as  it  is,  the  Novum  Organum  is  the  final  statement  of  his 
philosophic  and  scientific  position.  It  expounds  '  the  new 
instrument,'  the  logical  method  of  induction  whereby  nature 
was  thenceforth  to  be  rightly  questioned,  and  her  replies  to 
be  rightly  interpreted.  The  book  is  the  citadel  of  Bacon's 
philosophic  system.  To  this  exposition  of  his  ultimate  aim  in 
life  Bacon  justly  attached  the  highest  importance.  Twelve 
times  amid  the  bustle  of  public  business  had  he  rewritten  the 
ample  treatise  before  he  ventured  on  its  publication.  For 
twelve  years,  amid  all  the  preoccupation  of  his  public  career, 
a  draft  of  the  volume  had  never  been  far  from  his  hand. 

The  Novum   Organum   was   obsequiously   dedicated   to   the 
king.     A  very  few  months  later,  the  irony  of  fate  was  finally 

to  brinff  home  to  Bacon  the  error  of  dividing  his 

^  *  The  wrath 

allegiance  between  intellectual  ideals  and  worldly    of  Parlia- 

honours  and  riches.     For  eight  years  James  had 

suspended  the  sittings  of  Parliament.     But  money  difficulties 

were  growing  desperate.     At  length  the  king  resolved  on  the 

perilous  device  of  making  a   fresh  appeal  to   Parliament  to 

extricate    him    from    his    embarrassments.      Bacon    was    well 


2S4  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

aware  of  the  exasperated  state  of  public  feeling,  but  with 
a  curiously  mistaken  faith  in  himself  and  in  his  reputation, 
he  deemed  his  own  position  perfectly  secure.  When  Parlia- 
ment met  he  discovered  his  error.  At  first  he  sought  to 
close  his  eyes  to  the  true  character  of  the  crisis,  but  they 
were  soon  rudely  opened.  His  enemies  were  numerous  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  were  in  no  gentle  mood. 

Heated  censure  was  passed  on  Bacon  and  on  others  of  the 
king's  associates  as  soon  as  the  session  opened.     Quickly  a 

specific   charge   was   brought   against   him.      Two 
The  charge        ^  *  &  & 

ofcorrup-  petitions  were  presented  to  the  House  of  Com- 
tion.  -Ti  J  1  1 

mons   by   suitors    in   Bacon  s    court   charging   him 

with  taking  bribes  in  his  court,  of  corrupting  justice.  The 
charge  was  undisguised.  There  was  no  chance  of  misap- 
prehending its  gravity,  but  with  characteristic  insensibility. 
Bacon  affected  to  regard  the  attack  as  some  puerile  outcome 
of  spite.  He  asserted  that  it  was  unworthy  of  consideration. 
The  House  of  Commons,  however,  referred  the  complaints  to 
the  House  of  Lords,  and  the  Lords  took  the  matter  too 
seriously  to  leave  Bacon  longer  in  doubt  of  his  danger. 

As  soon  as  the  scales  dropped  from  his  eyes,  the  shock 
unmanned  him.  He  fell  ill,  and  was  unable  to  leave  his 
Bacon's  house.     Fresh  charges  of  corrupting  justice  were 

collapse.  brought  against  him,  and  he  was  called  upon  for 
an  answer.  Seeking  and  obtaining  an  interview  with  the 
king,  he  confessed  to  his  sovereign  that  he  had  taken  presents 
from  suitors,  but  he  solemnly  asseverated  that  he  had  received 
none  before  the  cause  was  practically  decided.  He  denied 
that  gifts  had  ever  led  him  to  pervert  justice.  Unluckily, 
evidence  was  forthcoming  that  at  any  rate  he  took  a  bribe 
while  one  cause  was  pending. 

As  soon  as  he  studied  the  details  of  the  indictment.  Bacon 
perceived  that  defence  was  impossible,  and  his  failing  nerve 


FRANCIS   BACON  235 

allowed  him  to  do  no  more  than  throw  himself  on  the  mercy 

of  his  peers.     His  accusers  pressed  for  a  definite  answer  to 

the  accusation,  but  he  eave  none.     He  declined  to     ^^. 

°  His  con- 

enter   into  details.      He   declared   in   writing  that     fession  of 

guilt, 
he  was  heartily  sorry  and  truly  penitent  for  the 

corruption  and  neglect  of  which  he  confessed  himself  guilty. 

The  story  is  a  pitiful  one.  Bacon,  reduced  to  the  last 
stage  of  nervous  prostration,  figures  in  a  most  ignoble  light 
throughout  the  proceedings.  He  turned  his  back  to  the 
smiter  in  a  paroxysm  of  fear.  On  the  1st  of  jj-g  p^nigh- 
May  1621  he  was  dismissed  from  his  office  of  ^^^*- 
Lord  Chancellor,  and  two  days  later,  in  his  absence  through 
illness,  sentence  was  pronounced  upon  him  by  the  House  of 
Lords.  He  was  ordered  to  pay  a  fine  of  £40,000  and  to  be 
imprisoned  for  life,  and  was  declared  incapable  of  holding 
any  office  in  the  State. 

Thus  ended  in  deep  disgrace  Bacon's  active  career.  The 
king  humanely  relieved  him  of  his  punishment,  and  he  was 
set  free  with  the  heavy  fine  unpaid.  He  retired  Hisretire- 
from  London  to  his  house  at  St.  Albans.  Driven  ™^^*- 
from  public  life,  he  naturally  devoted  himself  to  literature 
and  science — to  those  spheres  of  labour  which  he  believed 
himself  brought  into  the  world  to  pursue.  Although  his 
health  was  broken^  his  intellect  was  unimpaired  jjjg  nterary 
by  his  ruin,  and  he  engaged  with  renewed  energy  ^c  occupa-" 
in  literary  composition,  in  philosophical  specula-  *^°'^- 
tion,  and  in  scientific  experiment.  The  first  fruit  of  his  en- 
forced withdrawal  from  official  business  was  a  rapidly  written 
monograph  on  Henry  vii.  He  essayed  history,  he  boldly 
said,  because,  being  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  doing  his 
country  *  service,'  '  it  remained  to  him  to  do  it  honour.'  His 
Reign  of  King  Henry  VII.  is  a  vivid  historical  picture,  inde- 
pendent in  tone  and  of  substantial  accuracy.     More  germane 


236  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

to  his  previous  labours  was  a  first  instalment  of  a  large 
collection  of  scientific  facts  and  observations,  which  he  pub- 
lished in  Latin  in  the  same  year  as  his  account  of  Henry  vii. 
(1622),  under  the  title  Historia  Naturalis  et  Experimentalis 
ad  Condendam  Philosophiam  (Natural  and  Experimental  His- 
tory for  the  Foundation  of  Philosophy).  Next  year  there 
followed  De  Augmentis  Scientiarum,  an  enlarged  version  in 
Latin  of  his  Advancement  of  Learning. 

To  the  last  Bacon,  with  characteristic  perversity,  declined 
to  realise  the  significance  of  his  humiliation.  Of  the  sen- 
ilis vain  tence  passed  upon  him,  he  remarked  before  he 
rehabmta-  ^^^^y  *  It  was  the  justest  censure  in  Parliament 
tion.  |.|j^|.  ^g^g  tJiese  two  hundred  years.'     But  he  pre- 

faced this  opinion  with  the  qualification,  *  I  was  the  justest 
judge  that  was  in  England  these  fifty  years.'  As  his  life 
was  closing,  he  cherished  wild  hopes  of  regaining  the  king's 
favour,  even  of  returning  to  the  domain  of  politics  out  of 
which  he  had  passed  so  ignominiously.  He  offered  to  draw 
up  a  Digest  of  the  Law,  to  codify  the  Law.  He  still  ad- 
dressed his  patron  of  the  past.  King  James,  with  the  same 
adulation  as  of  old.  But  fortunately  for  himself  these  ill- 
conceived  efforts  failed.  When  Charles  i.  came  to  the  throne 
on  the  death  of  his  father  James  i..  Bacon  imagined  that  a 
new  opportunity  was  opened  to  him,  and  he  petitioned  for 
that  full  pardon  which  would  have  enabled  him  to  take  his 
seat  in  Parliament.  But  his  advances  were  then  for  a  last 
time  brusquely  repulsed. 

rx 

Although  Bacon's  health  was  shattered  and  he  could  not 
yield  himself  in  patience  to  exclusion  from  the  public  stage 

_  of  affairs,  his  scientific  enthusiasm  still  ran  high. 

His  death.  * 

The   immediate    cause   of   his   death    was   an   ad- 
venture inspired  by  scientific  curiosity.     At  the  end  of  March 


FRANCIS   BACON  237 

1626,  being  near  Highgate,  on  a  snowy  day,  he  left  his 
coach  to  collect  snow  with  which  he  meant  to  stuff  a  hen  in 
order  to  observe  the  effect  of  cold  on  the  preservation  of  its 
flesh.^  He  was  thus  a  pioneer  of  the  art  of  refrigeration, 
of  preserving  food  by  means  of  cold  storage.  In  performing 
the  experiment  he  caught  a  chill  and  took  refuge  in  the 
house  of  a  neighbouring  friend,  the  art-connoisseur.  Lord 
Arundel,  who  happened  to  be  from  home.  Bacon  was  sixty- 
five  years  old,  and  his  constitution  could  bear  no  new  strain. 
At  Lord  Arundel's  house  he  died  on  the  9th  of  April  of 
the  disease  now  known  as  bronchitis.  He  was  buried  at  St. 
Michael's  Church,  St.  Albans,  where  his  tomb  may  still  be 
visited.      The    monument   represents    him   elaborately   attired 

» This  circumstance  rests  on  the  testimony  of  the  philosopher  Hobbes, 
who  was  thirty-eight  years  old  at  the  time  of  Bacon's  death,  and  was  in  con- 
stant personal  intercourse  with  him  during  the  previous  ten  years.  Ilobbes's 
story,  which  Aubrey  took  down  from  his  lips  and  incorporated  in  his  life  of 
Bacon  (c/.  Aubrey's  Lives,  vol.  ii.  part  ii.  p.  602),  runs  as  follows:— 'The 
cause  of  his  Lordship's  death  was  trying  an  experiment.  As  he  was  taking  an 
aire  in  a  coach  with  Dr.  Witherborne  (a  Scotchman,  Physician  to  the  King) 
towards  Highgate,  snow  lay  on  the  ground,  and  it  came  into  my  Lord's 
thoughts,  why  flesh  might  not  be  preserved  in  snow  as  in  salt.  They  were 
resolved  they  would  try  the  experiment  presently.  They  alighted  out  of 
the  coach,  and  went  into  a  poore  woman's  house  at  the  bottome  of  Highgate 
Hill,  and  bought  a  hen,  and  made  the  woman  exenterate  it,  and  then  stuffed 
the  bodie  with  snow,  and  my  Lord  did  help  to  doe  it  himselfe.  The  snow 
so  chilled  him,  that  he  immediately  fell  so  extremely  ill,  that  he  could  not 
returne  to  his  lodgings  (at  Graye's  Inne)  but  went  to  the  Earl  of  Arundell's 
house  at  Highgate,  where  they  putt  him  into  a  good  bed  warmed  with  a 
panne,  but  it  was  a  damp  bed  that  had  not  been  layn  in  about  a  yeare  before, 
which' gave  him  such  a  cold  that  in  2  or  3  dayes  he  dyed  of  suffocation.' 
Bacon  carried  the  frozen  hen  with  him  to  Lord  Arundel's  house  and  Hved 
long  enough  to  assure  himself  that  his  experiment  was  successful.  Lord 
Arundel  happened  to  be  absent  from  home  on  Bacon's  arrival,  and  Bacon 
managed,  before  he  understood  the  fatal  character  of  his  illness,  to  dictate 
a  letter— the  last  words  which  he  is  known  to  have  uttered— to  his  host 
explaining  the  situation.  '  I  was  likely  to  have  had  the  fortune,'  the  letter 
began,  'of  Caius  Plinius  the  elder,  who  lost  his  life  by  trying  an  experiment 
about  the  burning  of  the  mountain  Vesuvius.  For  I  was  also  desirous  to  try 
an  experiment  or  two,  touching  the  conservation  and  induration  of  bodies. 
As  for  the  experiment  itself,  it  succeeded  excellently  well.'  ('A  Collection 
of  Letters  made  by  Sr.  Tobie  Mathews,  Kt.,  1660,'  p.  57.) 


238  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

and  seated  in  a  contemplative  attitude.  It  was  set  up  by  a 
loving  disciple,  Sir  Thomas  Meautys.  A  Latin  inscription, 
which  was  penned  by  another  admirer.  Sir  Henry  Wotton, 
may  be  rendered  in  English  thus : — 

*Thus  was  wont  to  sit  Francis  Bacon,  Lord  Verulam,  Vis- 
count St.  Albans,  (or  to  call  him  by  his  more  illustrious  titles) 
the  light  of  the  sciences,  the  standard  of  eloquence,  who,  after  he 
had  discovered  all  the  secrets  of  natural  and  moral  philosophy, 
fulfilled  nature's  law  of  dissolution,  a.d.  1626,  aged  66. — ^To  the 
memory  of  so  eminent  a  man  Thomas  Meautys,  a  disciple  in  hfe, 
an  admirer  in  death,  set  up  this  monument.* 

*  For  my  name  and  memory,'  Bacon  wrote  in  his  will, 
*  I  leave  it  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and  to  foreign 
g-g  nations  and  the  next  ages.'     These  legatees  have 

character.  ^^^  proved  themselves  negligent  of  the  trust  that 
Bacon  reposed  in  them;  yet,  when  his  personal  career  is 
surveyed,  it  is  impossible  for  man's  charitable  speeches  or 
foreign  nations  or  the  next  ages  to  apply  to  it  the  language 
of  eulogy.  An  unparalleled  faith  in  himself,  a  blind  self- 
confidence,  is  the  most  striking  feature  of  his  personal  char- 
acter. It  justified  in  his  mind  acts  on  his  part  which  defied 
every  law  of  morality.  That  characteristic  may  have  been 
partly  due  to  his  early  training.  The  self-righteous  creed 
which  his  narrowly  Puritan  mother  implanted  in  him  was 
responsible  for  much.  The  Calvinistic  doctrine  of  predestina- 
tion and  election  gave  him,  unconsciously,  at  the  outset,  con- 
fidence in  his  eternal  salvation,  whatever  his  personal  conduct 
in  life.  But,  if  this  were  the  result  of  his  mother's  teaching, 
his  father,  who  was  immersed  in  the  politics  of  the  day, 
made  him  familiar  as  a  boy  with  all  the  Machiavellian  de- 
vices, the  crooked  tricks  of  policy  and  intrigue  which  infected 
the  political  society  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  court.  While  these 
two    influences — ^his    mother's    superstition    and    his    father's 


FRANCIS   BACON  239 

crafty  worldliness — were  playing  on  his  receptive  mind,  a 
third  came  from  his  own  individuality.  He  grew  convinced 
of  the  possession  of  exceptional  intellectual  power  which,  if 
properly  applied,  would  revolutionise  man's  relations  with 
nature  and  reveal  to  him  her  hidden  secrets.  As  years  ad- 
vanced, he  realised  that  material  wealth  and  position  were 
needful  to  him  if  he  were  to  attain  the  goal  of  his  intellectual 
ambition.  With  a  moral  sense  weakened  by  his 
early  associations  with  Calvinism  on  the  one  hand  ofmor?!^^ 
and  with  utilitarianism  on  the  other,  he  was  ^''''''*'''''^- 
unable  to  recognise  any  justice  in  moral  obstacles  intervening 
between  him  and  that  material  prosperity  which  was  essential, 
in  his  belief,  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  intellectual  designs. 
The  higher  he  advanced  in  the  material  world,  the  more  inde- 
pendent he  became  of  the  conventional  distinctions  between 
right  and  wrong.  His  mighty  fall  teaches  the  useful  lesson 
that  intellectual  genius,  however  commanding,  never  justifies 
breaches  of  those  eternal  moral  laws  which  are  binding  on 
men  of  great  mental  endowments  equally  with  men  of  moder- 
ate or  small  intellectual  capacities. 

Nor  in  the  practical  affairs  of  life  did  Bacon  have  at  com- 
mand that  ordinary  faculty,  that  savoir  faire,  which  is  often 

to  be  met  with  in  men   of  smaller  capacity,  and 

1  .  ^  His  want 

can  alone  ensure  success  or  prosperity.     In  money    oisawir 

matters  his  carelessness  was  abnormal,  even  among  ^^^^* 
men  of  genius.  WTiether  his  resources  were  small  or  great, 
his  expenditure  was  always  in  excess  of  them.  He  was 
through  life  in  bondage  to  money-lenders,  yet  he  never  hesi- 
tated to  increase  his  outlay  and  his  indebtedness.  He  saw 
his  servants  robbing  him,  but  never  raised  a  word  in  protest. 
By  a  will  which  he  drew  up  in  the  year  before  he  died,  he 
was  munificent  in  gifts,  not  merely  to  friends,  retainers,  and 
the  poor,  but  to  public  institutions,  which  he  hoped  to  render 


240  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

more  efficient  in  public  service.  Yet  when  all  his  assets  were 
realised,  the  amount  was  only  sufficient  to  defray  two-thirds 
of  his  debts,  and  none  of  his  magnanimous  bequests  took 
effect.  With  his  thoughts  concentrated  on  his  intellectual 
ambitions,  he  neglected,  too,  the  study  of  the  men  with  whom 
he  worked.  Although  human  nature  had  revealed  to  him 
many  of  its  secrets,  and  he  could  disclose  them  in  literature 
with  rare  incisiveness,  he  failed  to  read  character  in  the 
individual  men  with  whom  chance  brought  him  into  everyday 
association.  He  misunderstood  Essex;  he  misunderstood 
James  i. ;  he  misunderstood  Buckingham;  his  wife  and  his 
servants  deceived  him. 


In  the  conduct  of  his  affairs,  as  in  the  management  of  men. 
Bacon  stands  forth  as  a  pitiable  failure.  It  is  only  in  his 
His  true  Scientific  and  his  literary  achievements  that  he  is 

greatness.       great,  but  there  few  have  been  greater. 

Bacon's  mind  was  a  typical  product  of  the  European 
Renaissance.  His  intellectual  interests  embraced  every 
His  literary  topic ;  his  writings  touched  almost  every  subj  ect 
versatility,  ^f  intellectual  study.  To  each  he  brought  the 
same  eager  curiosity  and  efficient  insight.  He  is  the  despair 
of  the  modern  specialist.  He  is  historian,  essayist,  logician, 
legal  writer,  philosophical  speculator,  writer  on  science  in 
every  branch. 

At  heart  Bacon  was  a  scholar  scorning  the  applause  which 
the  popular  writer  covets.  It  is  curious  to  note  that  he 
His  rever-  ^^^  ^  higher  value  on  his  skill  as  a  writer  of  Latin 
the  LaSn  *^^"  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^  writer  of  English.  Latin 
tongue.  jj^   regarded   as   the   language   of   the   learned   of 

every  nationality,  and  consequently  books  written  in  Latin 
were  addressed  to  his  only  fit  audience,  the  learned  society  of 


FRANCIS   BACON  241 

the   whole   civilised   globe.      English   writings,   on   the   other 

hand,  could  alone  appeal  to  the   (in  his  day)   comparatively 

few    persons    of    intelligence    who    understood    that    tongue. 

Latin  was  for  him  the  universal  language.      English  books 

could  never,  he  said,  be  citizens  of  the  world. 

So  convinced  was  he  of  the  insularity  of  his  own  tongue 

that  at  the  end  of  his  life  he  deplored  that  he  had  wasted 

time  in  writing  books  in  English.     He  hoped  all 

"  ^  His  con- 

his  works  might  be  translated  into  Latin,  so  that     tempt  for 

they  might  live  for  posterity.  Miscalculation  of 
his  powers  governed  a  large  part  of  Bacon's  life,  and  find 
signal  illustration  in  this  regret  that  he  should  have  written 
in  English  rather  than  in  Latin.  For  it  is  not  to  his  Latin 
works,  nor  to  the  Latin  translations  of  his  English  works, 
that  he  owes  the  main  part  of  his  immortality.  He  lives  as  a 
speculator  in  philosophy,  as  one  who  sought  a  great  intel- 
lectual goal;  but  he  lives  equally  as  a  great  master  of  the 
English  tongue  which  he  despised. 

For  terseness  and  pithiness  of  expression  there  is  nothing 
in  English  to  match  Bacon's  style  in  the  Essays.  His  reflec- 
tions on  human  life  which  he  embodied  there,  his 

The  style 
comments  on  human  nature,  especially  on  human    of  his 

Essays. 
infirmities,  owe  most  of  their  force  to  the  stimu- 
lating vigour  which  he  breathed  into  English  words.     No  man 
has    proved    himself    a    greater    master    of    the    pregnant 
apophthegm  in   any  language,  not  even  in  the   French  lan- 
guage, which  far  more  readily  lends  itself  to  aphorism. 

Weighty    wisdom,    phrased    with    that    point    and    brevity 

which  only  a  master   of   style  could   command,  is   scattered 

through  all  the  essays,  and  many  sentences  have 

become    proverbial.      It    is    the    essay    *  Of    Mar-     from  the 

Essays. 
riage   and  Single   Life '   that  begins :      *  He   that 

hath  wife  and  children  hath  given  hostages  to  fortune;  for 

P 


242  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

they  are  impediments  to  great  enterprises  either  of  virtue  or 
mischief.'  That  '  of  Parents  and  Children  '  has  *  Children 
sweeten  labours,  but  they  make  misfortunes  more  bitter;  they 
increase  the  cares  of  life,  but  they  mitigate  the  remembrance 
of  death.'  Of  '  Building '  he  made  the  prudent  and  witty 
remark :  '  Houses  are  built  to  live  in  and  not  to  look  on ; 
therefore  let  use  be  preferred  before  uniformity,  except  where 
both  may  be  had.  Leave  goodly  fabrics  of  houses  for  beauty 
only  to  the  enchanted  palaces  of  the  poets  who  build  them 
with  small  cost.'  Equally  notable  are  such  sentences  as 
these : — '  A  crowd  is  not  company,  and  faces  are  but  a  gallery 
of  pictures,  and  talk  but  a  tinkling  cymbal  where  there  is  no 
love.'  On  the  scriptural  proverb  about  riches  making  them- 
selves wings.  Bacon  grafted  the  practical  wisdom:  *  Riches 
have  wings  and  sometimes  they  fly  away  of  themselves, 
sometimes  they  must  be  set  flying  to  bring  in  more.'  Equally 
penetrating  are  these  aphoristic  deliverances : — *  Some  books 
are  to  be  tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be 
chewed  and  digested'  (Essay  i.,  of  'Studies').  *A  little 
philosophy  inclineth  a  man's  mind  to  atheism,  but  depth  in 
philosophy  bringeth  man's  mind  about  to  religion '  (Essay 
XVI.,  of  '  Atheism  ').  Sometimes  he  uses  very  homely  language 
with  singular  efl^ect.  '  Money  is  like  muck — not  good  except 
it  be  spread'  (Essay  xv.,  of  'Seditions  and  Troubles'). 
Thus  he  summarised  a  warning  which  he  elsewhere  elabor- 
ately phrased,  that  it  is  an  evil  hour  for  a  State  when  its 
treasure  and  money  are  gathered  into  a  few  hands. 

But  Bacon's  style  is  varied.  The  pithy  terseness  of  his 
essays  is  not  present  in  all  his  works.  In  addition  to  his  terse 
Hismaies-  i^^ode  of  English  expression,  he  had  at  command  a 
tic  style.  j.j^|^  exuberance  and  floridity  aboimding  in  rhetori- 
cal ornament  and  illustration.  He  professed  indifl'erence  to 
mere  questions   of   form   in  composition.      But  whatever   his 


FRANCIS    BACON  243 

theoretical  view  of  style,  he  was  a  singularly  careful  writer, 
and  his  philosophical  English  writings — his  Advancement  of 
Learning  especially — are  as  notable  for  the  largeness  of  their 
vocabulary,  the  richness  of  their  illustration,  and  the  rhyth- 
mical flow  of  their  sentences  as  for  their  philosophic  sugges- 
tiveness. 

All  that  Bacon  wrote  bore  witness  to  his  weighty  and 
robust  intellect,  but  his  style  was  coloured  not  merely  by 
intellectual  strength,  but  by  imaginative  insight.  So  much 
imaginative  power,  indeed,  underlay  his  majestic  phraseology 
and  his  illuminating  metaphors,  that  Shelley  in  his  eloquent 
Defence  of  Poetry  figuratively  called  him  a  poet.^  It  is  only 
figuratively  that  Bacon  could  be  called  a  poet.  He  is  only  a 
poet  in  the  sense  that  every  great  thinker  and  observer  of 
nature  has  a  certain  faculty  of  imagination.  But  his  faculty 
of  imagination  is  the  thinker's  faculty,  which  is  mainly  the 
fruit  of  intellect.  The  great  poet's  faculty  of  imagination, 
which  is  mainly  the  fruit  of  emotion,  was  denied  Bacon. 
Poetry  in  its  strict  sense,  the  modulated  harmony  of  verse, 
the  emotional  sympathy  which  seeks  expression  in  lyric  or 
drama,  was  out  of  his  range. 

The   writing   of   verse   was   probably   the   only   branch   of 

intellectual  endeavour  which  was  beyond  Bacon's  grasp.     He 

was   ambitious   to   try   his   hand  at   every   literary 

His  verse, 
exercise.     At  times  he  tried  to  turn  a  stanza.     The 

results     are    unworthy    of    notice.       Bacon's     acknowledged 

attempts  at  formal  poetry  are  uncouth  and  lumbering;  they 

attest    congenital    unfitness    for    that    mode    of    expression. 

1  Shelley  fancifully  endeavours  to  identify  poets  and  philosophers.  *  The 
distinctions,'  he  writes,  'between  philosophers  and  poets  have  been  antici- 
pated. Plato  was  essentially  a  poet.  .  .  .  Lord  Bacon  was  a  poet.  His 
language  has  a  sweet  and  majestic  rhythm,  which  satisfies  the  sense  no  less 
than  the  almost  superhuman  wisdom  of  his  philosophy  satisfies  the  intel- 
lect. ,  .  .Shakespeare,  Dante,  and  Milton  .  .  .  are  philosophers  of 
the  very  loftiest  power.' — Defence  of  Poetry,  ed.  A.  S.  Cook,  pp.  9-10. 


244  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

Strange  arguments  have  indeed  been  adduced  to  credit  Bacon 
with  those  supreme  embodiments  of  all  poetic  excellence — 
Shakespeare's  plays.  The  number  of  works  that  Bacon 
claimed  to  have  penned,  when  combined  with  the  occupations 
of  his  professional  career,  so  filled  every  nook  and  cranny  of 
his  adult  time,  that  on  no  showing  was  leisure  available  for 
the  conquest  of  vast  fields  of  poetry  and  drama.  But  whoever 
harbours  the  delusion  that  Bacon  was  responsible  for  any- 
thing that  came  from  Shakespeare's  pen,  should  examine 
Bacon's  versified  paraphrase  of  Certaine  Psalmes  which  he 
published  in  a  volume  the  year  before  he  died.  He  dedicated 
the  book  to  the  poet  George  Herbert,  in  terms  which  attest, 
despite  some  conventional  self-depreciation,  the  store  he  set 
by  this  poor  experiment.  The  work  represents  the  whole  of 
the  extant  metrical  efforts  which  came,  without  possibility  of 
dispute,  from  Bacon's  pen.  If  the  reader  of  that  volume  be 
not  promptly  disabused  of  the  heresy  that  any  Shakes- 
pearian touch  is  discernible  in  the  clumsy  and  crude  dog- 
gerel, he  deserves  to  be  condenmed  to  pass  the  rest  of  his 
days  with  no  other  literary  company  to  minister  to  his  literary 
cravings  than  this  *  Translation  of  Certaine  Psalmes  into 
English  Verse,  by  the  Right  Honourable  Francis,  Lo.  Veru- 
1am,  Viscount  St.  Alban.'  ^ 

1  Despite  his  incapacity  for  verse  Bacon,  like  many  smaller  men,  seems 
to  have  assiduously  courted  the  muse  in  private.  Writing  to  a  poetic  friend. 
Sir  John  Davies,  in  1603,  he  numbers  himself  among  'concealed  poets,'  and 
the  gossiping  biographer,  Aubrey,  applies  to  him  the  same  designation. 
Apart  from  his  verse-rendering  of  the  psalms,  he  has  only  been  credited  on 
any  sane  grounds  with  two  pieces  of  verse,  and  to  one  of  these  he  has  cer- 
tainly no  title.  The  moralising  jingle,  beginning  'The  man  of  life  up- 
right,' figures  in  many  seventeenth-century  manuscript  miscellanies  of 
verse  as '  Verses  made  by  Mr.  Francis  Bacon,'  but  its  true  author  was  Thomas 
Campion  (cf.  Poems,  ed.  A.  H.  BuUen,  p.  20).  The  other  poetic  performance 
assigned  to  Bacon  is  variously  called  'The  World,'  'The  Bubble/  and  'On 
Man's  Mortality.'     It  opens  with  the  Unes, 

*The  world's  a  bubble,  and  the  life  of  man 
Less  than  a  span/ 


FRANCIS   BACON  245 

XI 

It  is  Bacon's  scientific  or  philosophic  labour  which  forms 
the  apex  of  his  history.     Although  he  wrote  many  scattered 

treatises  which  dealt  in  detail  with  scientific  phe-    ^^. 

His 
nomena.    Bacon's    scientific    and    philosophic    aims     philosophic 

works. 
can   best  be   deduced  from  his  two  great  works, 

the  Advancement  of  Learning,  which  was  written  in  English, 

and  the  Novum  Organum,  which  was  written  in  Latin.     The 

first,  which  was  greatly  amplified  in  a  Latin  paraphrase   (at 

least  one-third  being  new  matter)  called  De  Augmentis  Scien- 

tiarum,  is   a  summary  survey  in   English   of   all  knowledge. 

The  second  work,  the  Latin  Novum  Organum,  is  a  fragment 

of  Bacon's  full  exposition  of  his  scientific  system;  it  is  the 

only  part  of  it  that  he  completed,  and  mainly  describes  his 

inductive  method  of  scientific  investigation. 

Bacon's   attitude   to   science   rests   on   the   convictions   that 

man's   true   function   in  life  is  to  act  as   the  interpreter   of 

nature;  that  truth  cannot  be  derived  from  author-    ^^ 

His  atti- 
ity,  but  from  man's   experience  and  experiments ;     tude  to 

science. 

that    knowledge    is    the    fruit    of    experience    and 
experiment.     Bacon's  philosophic  writings  have  for  their  main 

and  was  first  printed  after  Bacon's  death  in  1629  in  Thomas  Farnaby's 
FLorilegium  Epigrammaticum  Grcecorum,  a  Latin  translation  of  selections 
from  the  Greek  Anthology.  The  poem  in  question  is  the  only  English  verse 
in  Farnaby's  book,  and  is  ascribed  by  him  on  hazy  grounds  to  'Lord 
Verulam.'  It  is  a  rendering  of  the  epigram  in  the  Palatine  Anthology,  x.  359, 
which  is  sometimes  assigned  to  Posidippus  and  sometimes  to  Crates  (cf. 
Mackail's  Greek  Anthology,  sect.  xii.  No.  xxxix.  p.  278).  The  English  lines, 
the  authorship  of  which  remains  uncertain,  paraphrase  the  Greek  freely 
and  effectively,  but  whoever  may  be  their  author,  they  cannot  be  ranked 
among  original  compositions.  A  copy  was  found  among  Sir  Henry  Wotton's 
papers,  and  printed  in  the  Reliquiae  Wottoniance  (1G51)  above  the  signature 
'Ignoto.'  They  were  also  put  to  the  credit,  in  early  manuscript  copies, 
of  Donne,  of  'Henry  Harrington,'  and  of  'R.  W.'  The  Greek  epigram,  it 
is  interesting  to  note,  was  a  favourite  with  Elizabethan  versifiers.  English 
renderings  are  extant  by  Nicolas  Grimald  (in  Tot+ol's  Songes  and  Sonnettes, 
ed.  Arber,  p.  109),  by  Puttonham  (in  Arte  of  English  Poesie,  ed.  Arber, 
p.  214),  by  Sir  John  Beaumont,  and  others. 


246  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

object  the  establishment  of  a  trustworthy  system  whereby 
nature  may  be  interpreted  by  man,  and  brought  into  his 
service,  whereby  the  study  of  natural  science  may  be  set  on 
a  firm  and  fruitful  foundation. 

The  first  aim  wai^  to  overthrow  the  deductive  methods 
of  Aristotle  and  mediaeval  schoolmen,  by  virtue  of  which  it 

had  been  customary  before  Bacon's  time  to  seek 
His  opposi- 
tion to  to   prove   preconceived   theories   without   reference 
Aristotle. 

to  actual  fact  or  experience.     The  formal  logic  of 

the  syllogism  was  in  Bacon's  eyes  barren  verbiage.  By  such 
means  elaborate  conclusions  were  reached,  which  were  never 
tested  by  observation  and  experiment,  although  if  they  were 
so  tested,  they  would  be  summarily  confuted.  The  deductive 
conclusion  that  bodies  fall  to  the  ground  at  a  velocity  pro- 
portioned to  their  weight  is  one  of  the  simple  fallacies  which 
were  universally  accepted  before  observation  and  experiment 
were  summoned  to  test  its  truth  and  brought  the  law  of 
gravitation   into   being. 

Bacon  ranks  as  the  English  champion  of  the  method 
of  inductive  reasoning.  It  was  well  known  to  earlier  logicians 
Bacon  on  *^^*  ^^  enumeration  of  phenomena  offered  mate- 
induction.  j.j^j  £qj.  generalisation,  but  Bacon's  predecessors 
were  content  with  a  simple  and  uncritical  enumeration  of 
such  facts  as  happened  to  come  under  their  notice,  and  their 
mode  of  generalising  was  valueless  and  futile,  because  the 
foundations  were  unsound  as  often  as  they  were  sound. 
Bacon  argued  that  reports  of  isolated  facts  were  to  be 
accumulated,  and  were  then  to  be  systematically  tested  by 
means  of  observation  and  experiment.  Phenomena  were  to  be 
carefully  selected  and  arranged.  There  were  to  be  elimi- 
nations and  rejections  of  evidence.  From  the  assemblage  and 
codification  of  tested  facts  alone  were  conclusions  to  be  drawn. 

On  man's  inability,  without  careful  training,  to  distinguish 


FRANCIS   BACON  247. 

between  fact  and  fiction.  Bacon  laid  especial   stress.     Man's 

powers  were  rarely  in  a  condition  to  report  on  phenomena 

profitably  or  faithfully.     Congenital  prejudice  was    ^^^,^ 

first  to    be   allowed   for   and   counteracted.      Man    mental 

prejudices, 
was    liable    to    misapprehensions    of    what    came 

within  the  range  of  his  observation,  owing  to  inadequate  con- 
trol of  the  senses  and  emotions. 

To  an  analysis  of  the  main  defects  in  the  operation  of  the 
human  intellect  in  its  search  after  truth  Bacon  devoted  much 
attention.  The  mind  of  man.  Bacon  pointed  out,  was  haunted 
by  phantoms,  and  exorcism  of  these  phantoms  was  needful 
before  reason  was  secure  in  her  dominion  of  the  mind.  Bacon 
called  the  phantoms  of  the  mind  idols — idola,  from  the 
Greek  word  ciSwXa,  phantoms  or  images.  Idols  or  idola 
were,  in  Bacon's  terminology,  the  antitheses  of  ideas,  the 
sound  fruit  of  thought.  Bacon  finally  reduced  the  idols  or 
phantoms  which  infested  man's  mind  to  four  classes — idols 
of  the  tribe,  the  cave,  the  market-place,  and  the  theatre.^ 

Idols  of  the  tribe  are  inherent  habits  of  mind  common 
to  all  the  human  tribe,  such  as  the  tendency  to  put  more 
faith  in  one  affirmative  instance  of  success  than  in  The  doctrine 
any  number  of  negative  instances  of  failure.  An  of  idols. 
extraordinary  cure  is  effected  by  means  of  some  drug,  and 
few  people  stop  to  inquire  how  often  the  drug  has  failed, 
or  whether  the  cure  was  due  to  some  cause  other  than  the 
administration  of  this  particular  drug.  Idols  of  the  cave 
(a  conception  which  is  borrowed  from  Plato's  Republic)  are 
the  prejudices  of  the  individual  person  when  he  is  imprisoned 

»  Sections  xxxviii.-lxviii.  of  the  Novum  Organum  expound  Bacon's  'doc- 
trine of  the  idols '  in  its  final  shape.  A  first  imperfect  draft  of  the  doctrine 
appears  in  the  Advancement  of  Learning  (Bk.  ii.),  and  is  expanded  in  the 
De  Augmentis  and  in  the  Latin  tracts  Valerius  Terminus  and  Partis  Secundce 
Delineatio,  but  the  Novum  Organum  is  the  locus  classicus  for  the  exposition 
of  the  doctrine. 


248  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

in  the  cave  of  his  own  idiosyncrasy.  One  man's  natural  habit 
inclines  to  exaggeration  of  statement^  while  another  man's 
habit  inclines  to  underestimation  of  the  importance  of  what 
he  sees  or  hears.  The  third  idol — of  the  market-place — is 
the  disposition  to  become  the  slave  of  phrases  and  words 
which  are  constantly  heard  in  ordinary  traffic,  the  market- 
place of  life.  Mere  words  or  phrases,  when  echoed  in  the 
market-place  of  life,  apart  from  the  circumstances  that  give 
them  their  full  significance,  breed  irrational  misconception. 
Words  like  Free-trade  or  Protection,  to  take  a  modern  example, 
fall  within  the  scope  of  Bacon's  doctrine;  they  easily  become 
verbal  fetiches,  and  the  things  of  which  they  are  mere  market- 
place tokens  are  left  out  of  account.  Idols  of  the  theatre 
mean  those  tendencies  on  the  part  of  masses  of  men  and 
women  to  put  faith  in  everything  that  is  said  very  dogmati- 
cally, as  actors  are  wont  to  speak  from  the  stage  of  the 
theatre.  Philosophies  or  religions,  which  rest  on  specious 
dogmas,  have  the  character,  in  Bacon's  judgment,  of  stage- 
plays  which  delude  an  ignorant  audience  into  accepting  the 
artificial,  unreal  scene  for  nature,  by  virtue  of  over-empha- 
sised speech  and  action. 

Man's   vision    must   be    purged    from    prejudices,    whether 
they   are   inherited   or   spring   from   environment,   before   he 

can  fully  grasp  the  truth.     The  dry  light  of  rea- 
The  dry 

light  of  son  is  the  only  illuminant  which  permits  man  to 

reason,  i        ,  ,  ,  ^  ■, 

see   clearly   phenomena   as   they   are;    only   when 

idols  are  dispersed  does  the  dry  light  burn  with  effectual  fire. 


ZII 

Bacon  claimed  that  all  knowledge  lay  within  the  scope  of 
man's  enfranchised  mind.  The  inductive  system  was  to  ar- 
rive ultimately  at  the  cause,  not  only  of  scientific  facts  and 


FRANCIS   BACON  249 

conditions,   but   of   moral,   political,   and   spiritual  facts   and 

conditions.      He    refused    to    believe    that    any    limits    were 

set  beyond  which   human  intellect  when  clarified    ^^   ,.    . 
•'  The  limit- 

and    purified    could    not    penetrate.      He    argued    lesspossi- 
that,  however  far  we  may  think  we  have  advanced    man's 
in    knowledge    or    science,    there    is    always    more 
beyond,  and  that  the  tracts  lying  beyond  our  present  gaze 
will  in  due  course  of  time  come  within  the  range  of  a  purified 
intellectual   vision.      There   were  no   bounds   to   what  human 
thought  might  accomplish.     To  other  children  of  the  Renais- 
sance the  same  sanguine  faith  had  come,  but  none  gave  such 
emphatic  voice  to  it  as  Bacon. 

But   Bacon   did  not   go   far   along  the   road   that  he   had 
marked   out   for   himself.      His   great   system   of   knowledge 
was    never    completed.      He    was    always    looking    rpj^^  £^^g_ 
forward  to  the  time  when,  having  exhausted  his    ^a^^^Sr 
study  of  physics,  he  should  proceed  to  the  study     of  his  work. 
of  metaphysics — the  things  above  physics,  spiritual  things — 
but   metaphysics   never   came   within    his   view,   nor    did   he, 
to    speak   truth,    do    much    more   than    touch    the    fringe    of 
physical  investigation.     He  failed  to  keep  himself  abreast  of 
the  physical  knowledge  of  his  day,  and  some  of     jjjg  j      _ 
his   guesses   at   scientific   truth   strike   the   modern     ^^^^  of 

reader  as  childish.     He  knew  nothing  of  Harvey's    porary 

^  ''         advances 

discovery  of   the   circulation  of  the   blood,   which     in  science. 

that  great  physician  enunciated  in  his  lectures  to  his  students 
fully  ten  years  before  Bacon  died.  He  knew  nothing  of 
Napier's  invention  of  logarithms,  nor  of  Kepler's  mathemati- 
cal calculations,  which  set  the  science  of  astronomy  on  a 
just  footing.  He  ignored  the  researches  of  his  own  fellow- 
countryman,  William  Gilbert,  in  the  new  science  of  the 
magnet.  Nor,  apparently,  was  he  acquainted  with  the  vast 
series  of  scientific  discoveries,  including  the  thermometer  and 


250  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

the  telescope,  which  were  due  to  the  genius  of  the  greatest 
of  his  scientific  contemporaries,  Galileo. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  Bacon,  despite  his  intuitive  grasp 
of  scientific  principle,  had  any  genuine  aptitude  for  the  prac- 
tical work  of  scientific  research.  News  of  Galileo's  discovery 
of  Jupiter's  satellites  reached  him,  but  he  did  not  apprehend 
its  significance.  Galileo's  final  confirmation  of  the  Copernican 
system  of  astronomy,  which  proved  that  the  earth  went  round 
the  sun,  never  obtained  Bacon's  recognition.  He  adhered  to 
the  geocentric  theory  of  Ptolemy,  which  was  long  accepted 
universally,  that  the  earth  was  the  fixed  centre  of  the  uni- 
verse, round  which  sun  and  planets  revolved.  He  even  disre- 
spectfully referred  to  those  who  insisted  on  the  earth's 
movement  round  the  sun  as  *  these  mad  carmen  which  drive 
the  earth  about.' 

Yet  Bacon's  spacious  intuition  enabled  him  to  strike  out 
a  few  shrewd  scientific  observations  that  anticipated  re- 
Hisown  searches  of  the  future.  He  described  heat  as  a 
discoveries,  mode  of  motion,  and  light  as  requiring  time  for 
its  transmission.  Of  the  atomic  theory  of  matter  he  had,  too, 
a  shadowy  glimpse.  He  even  vaguely  suggested  some  valua- 
ble mechanical  devices  which  are  now  in  vogue.  In  a  descrip- 
tion of  instruments  for  the  transference  of  sound,  he  fore- 
shadowed the  invention  of  speaking-tubes  and  telephones; 
and  he  died,  as  we  have  seen,  in  an  endeavour  to  test  a  per- 
fectly accurate  theory  of  refrigeration. 

His  greatness  in  the  history  of  science  does  not,  however, 
consist  in  the  details  of  his  scientific  study,  nor  in  his  appli- 
His  place  cations  of  science  to  practical  life,  nor  in  his  per- 
historyof  sonal  aptitude  for  scientific  research,  but  rather 
science.  ^^  ^^le  impetus  which  his  advocacy  of  inductive  and 

experimental  methods  gave  to  future  scientific  investigation. 
As  he  himself  said,  he  rang  the  bell  which  called  the  other 


FRANCIS   BACON  251 

wits  together.  He  first  indicated  the  practical  efficiency  of 
scientific  induction,  and  although  succeeding  experimenters  in 
science  may  have  been  barely  conscious  of  their  indebted- 
ness to  him,  yet  their  work  owes  its  value  to  the  logical  method 
which  he  brought  into  vogue. 


ZIII 

Although  he  failed  to  appreciate  the  value  of  the  scientific 

investigations    of   his    contemporaries.    Bacon    preached   with 

enthusiasm  the  crying  need  of  practical  research 

The  endow- 
if  his  prophecy  of  the  future  or   science  were  to    mentof 

be   realised.      His    mind    frequently   contemplated 

the  organisation,  the  endowment  and  equipment  of  research 

in    every    branch    of    science,    theoretical    or    practical.      A 

great   palace   of   invention,   a   great   temple   of   science,   was 

one   of   his    dreams.      In   later   life   he    amused   himself   by 

describing,  in   fanciful  language,  what   form   such   a   palace 

might  take  in  imaginary  conditions.      The   sketch  is   one  of 

the  most  charming  of  his  writings.     He  called  it   The  New 

Atlantis.     It  was  never  finished,  and  the  fragment  was  not 

published  in  his  lifetime. 

Bacon  intended  the  work  to  fulfil  two  objects.      First  he 

sought   to   describe   an   imaginary   college,   which   should   be 

instituted  for  the  purpose  of  interpreting  nature.    The  New 

and  of  producing  great  and  marvellous  works  for     ^'^«^'^«- 

the   benefit   of  men.      In  the   second   place,  he   proposed  to 

frame   an    ideal   body   of   laws    for   a    commonwealth.      The 

second  part  was  not  begun.     The  only  portion  of  the  treatise 

that  exists  deals,  after  the  manner  of  a  work  of  fiction,  with 

an  ideal  endowment  of  scientific  research.     It  shows   Bacon 

to  advantage  as  a  writer  of  orderly  and  dignified  English,  and 


252  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

embodies,  in  a  short  compass,  as  many  of  Bacon's  personal 
convictions  and  ideals  as  any  of  his  compositions. 

In  the  history  of  the  English  Renaissance,  the  New  At- 
lantis fills  at  the  same  time  an  important  place.  It  is  in  a 
^^  sense  the  epilogue  of  the  drama.     It  is  the  latest 

epilogue  pronouncement  in  the  endeavour  of  the  Renais- 
to  the 

Renaissance  sance  to  realise  perfection  in  human  affairs.  The 
in  England. 

cry  for  the  regeneration  of  the  race  found  voice 

— for  the  first  time  in  England  under  the  spell  of  the  Re- 
naissance— in  More's  Utopia.  More  pleaded  for  the  recogni- 
tion of  equal  social  rights  for  all  reasoning  men.  Bacon's 
New  Atlantis  was  a  sequal  to  More's  Utopia,  but  it  sharply 
contrasted  with  it  in  conception.  Since  More  wrote  the 
Utopia  time  had  taught  thinkers  of  the  Renaissance  to  believe 
that  man's  ultimate  regeneration  and  perfectibility  depended 
primarily  not  on  reform  of  laws  of  property  or  on  social 
revolution,  but  on  the  progress  of  science  and  the  regulation 
of  human  life  by  the  scientific  spirit.  Bacon's  New  Atlantis 
proclaimed  with  almost  romantic  enthusiasm  that  scientific 
method  alone  was  the  ladder  by  which  man  was  to  ascend 
to   perfect  living. 

The  opening  page  of  Bacon's  scientific  romance  introduces 
us  abruptly  to  a  boatload  of  mariners  on  their  voyage  from 
The  story  ^^rn  by  the  South  Pacific  Sea  to  China  and  Japan. 
Attantis^^"  Storms  delay  them,  and  their  food-supplies  fail, 
Utopia.  -^^^    happily    they    reach    land,    the    existence    of 

which  they  had  not  suspected.  The  inhabitants,  after  careful 
inquiry,  permit  the  castaways  to  disembark.  The  land  proves 
to  be  the  island  of  Ben  Salem,  to  which  the  Christian  religion 
had  been  divinely  revealed  at  a  very  early  period.  The 
islanders  practise  all  civic  virtues,  especially  the  virtue  of 
hospitality.  The  visitors  are  royally  entertained.  It  is 
curious  to  note  that  Bacon,  zealous  for  efficiency  of  organisa- 


FRANCIS   BACON  253 

tion  in  small  things  as  in  great^  points  out  how  the  servants 
refused  with  amused  contempt  the  offer  of  gifts  of  money 
from  the  strange  travellers  on  whom  they  were  directed  to 
wait;  the  servants  deemed  it  (such  was  their  disinterested  and 
virtuous  faith  in  logic)  dishonour  to  be  twice  paid  for  their 
labours — by  their  employers  and  by  their  employers'  guests. 

The   customs    of   the   people   of   this    unknown   island   are 
charmingly  described,  and  ultimately  the  travellers  are  intro- 
duced to  the  chief  and  predominating  feature  of    -phe  im- 
the  island,  a  great  college  of  science,  founded  by    cSleee^of 
an   ancient    ruler,    and   called    Salomon's    house —    science. 
'  the  noblest   foundation  that  ever  was  upon  the  earth,   and 
the  lantern  of  this  kingdom.' 

The   rest   of   the   work   describes   the   constitution   of   this 

great  foundation  for  *  the  finding  out  the  true  nature  of  all 

things.'     The  end  of  this  college  of  science  is  to 

^    ^  ^  The  work 

reach   *  the  knowledge  of   causes,   and   secret  mo-     of  the 

coUgcg 
tions  of  things,  and  the  enlarging  of  the  bounds 

of  human  empire  to  the  effecting  of  all  things  possible.'  That 
is  the  motto  of  the  great  temple.  There  is  much  that  is  fan- 
tastic in  the  sequel,  but  it  illustrates  Bacon's  dearest  aspira- 
tions, and  his  anticipations  of  what  science  might,  if  effort 
were  fittingly  organised,  ultimately  accomplish.  There  are 
caves  sunk  six  hundred  fathoms  deep,  in  which  '  refrigera- 
tions and  conservations  of  bodies '  are  effected,  and  new 
metals  artificially  contrived.  There  are  turrets  half  a  mile 
high — in  one  case  erected  on  a  mountain  three  miles  high — 
for  purposes  of  meteorological  observation.  There  is  a  cham- 
ber of  health,  where  the  atmosphere  is  modulated  artificially 
with  a  view  to  adapting  it  to  cure  various  diseases.  In  the 
gardens,  new  flowers  and  fruits  are  brought  into  being  by  dint 
of  grafting  and  inoculation.  Vivisection  is  practised  on 
beasts   and  birds,   so  that  opportunities   may  be  at  hand  to 


254  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

test  the  effects  of  poison  and  new  operations  in  surgery,  and 
to  vriden  the  knowledge  of  physiology;  while  breeding  experi- 
ments produce  new  and  useful  species  of  animals.  Optics  in 
all  its  branches  is  studied  practically  in  the  laboratories,  called 
perspective-houses.  Finally,  there  is  an  establishment  where 
tricks  that  deceive  the  senses,  like  feats  of  juggling,  or 
spiritualistic  manifestations,  or  ghostly  apparitions,  are  prac- 
tised to  the  highest  perfection,  and  then  explained  to  serious 
students  who  go  out  into  the  world,  and  by  their  instruction 
prevent  the  simple-minded  from  being  deceived  by  quacks 
and  impostors. 

The  leading  men  of  the  island,  the  aristocracy,  consist 
of   a   great  hierarchy   of   fellows,   or   endowed   students,   of 

^,    ^  ,,         the  House  of  Science.     Each  rank  exercises  dif- 

The  Fellows 

of  the  f erent  functions.     Some,  called  *  the  merchants  of 

college. 

light,    travel   to    collect   information.      Others    at 

home  compile  knowledge  from  books.  Others  codify  the  ex- 
periments of  their  colleagues.  Some  of  the  students  devote 
themselves  to  applying  the  discoveries  of  theoretical  science 
to  mechanical  inventions.  Others  extract,  through  the  general 
work  of  the  college,  philosophic  generalisations.  Religion 
sheds  its  light  on  the  foundation;  and  the  father,  or  chief 
ruler,  of  the  house  is  represented  as  abounding  in  pious 
fervour.  All  the  students  are,  indeed,  described  as  philan- 
thropists seeking  inspiration  from  God.  Respect  for  great 
discoverers  of  new  truths  or  of  new  applications  of  science 
was  one  of  the  principles  of  Bacon's  great  scheme  of  a 
Temple  of  Science.  For  every  invention  of  value  a  statue 
to  the  inventor  was  at  once  erected  in  the  House,  and  a 
liberal  and  honourable  reward  was  given  him. 

The  scheme  of  this  great  imaginary  institution  is  Bacon's 
final  message  to  mankind.  His  college  of  science  was  a 
design,  he  said,  fit  for  a  mighty  prince  to  execute.     He  felt 


FRANCIS   BACON  255 

that  if  such  a  design  had  been  executed  in  his  day,  he  him- 
self would  have  had  the  opportunty  which  he  lacked  of  sepa- 
rating himself   from   sordid   and   sophisticated  society,   from 

evil  temptations  which  he  had  not  the  moral  cour-     x. 

Bacon's 

age  to  resist,  of  realising  his  youthful  ambition,     aspiration. 
History  would  then  have  known  him  exclusively  as  a  bene- 
factor of  the  human  race,   a   priest   of  science,  who   conse- 
crated every  moment  of  his  life  to  searching  into  the  secrets 
of  nature  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellow-men. 

Bacon's  idea  has  not  yet  been  realised.  Whether  a  temple 
of  science  on  the  scale  that  Bacon  imagined  it  will  ever 
come  into  existence  remains  to  be  seen.  But  when  Prospects 
I  read  and  hear— and  I  have  often  heard  of  them  BaWs°^ 
since  I  have  been  in  the  United  States — of  the  ^^^^^• 
high  intellectual  and  scientific  aspirations  that  are  alive  in 
this  country,  when  I  hear  of  the  readiness  with  which  men 
of  material  wealth  are  prepared  to  devote  large  parts  of 
their  fortunes  to  furthering  high  intellectual  and  scientific 
aspirations,  the  hope  cannot  be  wanting  that  Bacon's  great 
ideal  Temple  of  Science  may  achieve  existence  in  reality 
within  the  confines  of  the  Republic  of  the  United  States. 

Bacon  was  well  alive  to  the  means  whereby  a  nation's 
intellectual  prestige  could  best  be  sustained.  In  this  illumi- 
nating tractate  of  his.  The  New  Atlantis,  he  argued  in  effect 
that  it  was  incumbent  on  a  nation  to  apply  a  substantial  part 
of  its  material  resources  to  the  equipment  of  scientific  work 
and  exploration — a  substantial  part  of  its  resources  which 
should  grow  greater  and  greater  with  the  progress  of  time 
and  of  population,  with  the  increasing  complexity  of  knowl- 
edge. Such  application  of  material  resources,  in  Bacon's 
view,  was  the  surest  guarantee  of  national  glory  and  pros- 
perity. This  is  perhaps  at  the  moment  the  most  serious  lesson 
that  Bacon's  writings  teach  us. 


VII 

SHAKESPEARE'S   CAREER 

.     .     .     Princes  sit  like  stars  about  his  throne, 
And  he  the  svin  for  them  to  reverence. 
None  that  beheld  him,  but  like  lesser  hghts 
Did  vail  their  crowns  to  his  supremacy. 

Pericles,  ii.,  iii.,  39-42. 

[Bibliography. — The  main  facts  are  recorded  in  the  present 
writer's  Life  of  Shakespeare,  which  was  published  in  1898.  The 
documentary  information  respecting  Shakespeare's  career  is 
collected  in  HalUwell  PhilUpps'  Outlines  of  the  Life  of  Shake- 
speare, 2  vols.,  tenth  Edition,  1898.  The  two  volumes  published 
by  The  New  Shakspere  Society :  Shakspere's  Centurie  of 
Prayse  ;  being  materials  for  a  history  of  opinion  on  Shakspere 
and  his  works,  A.D.  1591-1693  (edited  by  C.  M.  Ingleby,  and 
Lucy  Toulmin  Smith,  1879),  and  Some  300  Fresh  Allusions  to 
Shakspere  from  1594  to  1694  A.D.  (edited  by  F.  J.  Furnivall, 
1886),  bear  useful  testimony  to  the  persistence  of  the  accepted 
tradition.] 


The    obscurity   with   which    Shakespeare's    biography   has 
been  long  credited  is   greatly  exaggerated.     The  mere  bio- 
graphical information  accessible  is  far  more  defi- 
The  docu-  i        ,  ,  i_ 

mentary         nitc  and  more  abundant  than  that  concernmg  any 

other  dramatist  of  the  day.  In  the  case  of  no 
contemporary  dramatist  are  the  precise  biographical  dates  and 
details — dates  of  baptism  and  burial,  circumstances  of  mar- 
riage, circumstances  of  children,  the  private  pecuniary  trans- 
actions of  his  career,  the  means  of  determining  the  years 
in  which  his  various  literary  works  were  planned  and  pro- 
duced— equally  numerous  or  based  on  equally  firm  docu- 
mentary foundation. 

Shakespeare's  father,  John  Shakespeare,  was  a  dealer  in 
256 


Wi.-LiAM  Shakespeare. 

From  the  moniiwent  in  the  chancel  of  the  parish  church  of  Stratford-upon-Avon. 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  257 

agricultural  produce  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  a  prosperous 
country  town  in  the  heart  of  England.  John  Shakespeare 
was  himself  son  of  a  small  farmer  residing  in  the  Parent 
neighbouring  Warwickshire  village  of  Smitter-  ^nd  birth, 
field.  The  family  was  of  yeoman  stock.  Shakespeare's 
mother,  Mary  Arden,  was  also  daughter  of  a  local  farmer, 
who  enjoyed  somewhat  greater  wealth  and  social  standing 
than  the  poet's  father  and  kindred.  William  Shakespeare, 
the  eldest  child  that  survived  infancy,  was  baptized  in  the 
parish  church  of  Stratford-on-Avon  on  26th  April  1564,  and 
the  entry  may  still  be  read  there  in  the  parish  registers. 

The  more  closely  one  studies  Shakespeare's  career,  the 
plainer  it  becomes  that  his  experiences  and  fortunes  were 
very  similar  to  those  of  many  who  came  in  adult 
years  to  follow  in  his  day  his  own  profession. 
Sprung  from  yeoman  stock,  of  a  family  moderately  supplied 
with  the  world's  needs,  he  had  the  normal  opportunities  of 
education  which  the  Grammar  School  of  the  town  of  his  birth 
could  supply.  Elizabethan  Grammar  Schools  gave  boys  of 
humble  birth  a  sound  literary  education.  Latin  was  the  chief 
subject  of  their  study.  The  boys  talked  Latin  with  their 
master  in  simple  dialogue;  they  translated  it  into  English; 
they  wrote  compositions  in  it.  A  boy  with  a  native  bent  for 
literature  was  certain  to  have  his  interest  stimulated  if  he 
went  to  an  Elizabethan  Grammar  School,  and  mastered  the 
Latin  curriculum.  Few  of  Shakespeare's  schoolfellows  at 
Stratford,  whatever  their  adult  fortunes,  lost  in  later  life 
familiarity  with  the  Latin  which  they  had  acquired  at  school. 
Friends  and  neighbours  of  Shakespeare  at  Stratford,  who 
were  educated  with  him  at  the  Grammar  School  and  passed 
their  days  as  grocers  or  butchers  in  the  town,  were  in  the 
habit  of  corresponding  with  one  another  in  copious  and  fluent 
Latin. 

R 


25S.  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Of  Shakespeare's  great  literary  contemporaries  few  began 

life  in  a  higher  social  position  or  with  better  opportunities 

^,        .  of  education  than  he.     Marlowe,  who  was  the  first 

The  tram-  ' 

ing  of  writer  of  literary  blank  verse  in  England,  and  was 

literary  oi.    i  »  o  ^ 

contem-  Shakespeare's  tutor  in  artistic  tragedy,  was  son  of 

poraries, 

a  shoemaker,  and  was  educated  at  the  King's  Gram- 
mar School  of  Canterbury.  Spenser,  the  poet  of  the  Faerie 
Queene,  was  son  of  an  impecunious  London  tailor,  and  began 
writing  poetry  after  passing  through  the  Merchant  Taylors' 
School.  These  schools  were  of  the  same  type  as  the  school  of 
Stratf ord-on-Avon ;  they  provided  an  identical  course  of 
study. 

While  Shakespeare  was  a  schoolboy  his  father  was  a 
prosperous  tradesman,  holding  the  highest  civic  office  in  the 
His  self-  little  town  of  Stratford.     Unfortunately,  when  the 

training.  eldest  son  William  was  little  more  than  fourteen, 
the  father  fell  into  pecuniary  embarrassment,  and  the  boy 
was  withdrawn  from  school  before  his  course  of  study  was 
complete.  He  was  deprived  of  the  opportunity  of  continu- 
ing his  education  at  a  university;  his  further  studies  he  had 
to  pursue  unaided.  Nothing  peculiar  to  his  experience  is  to 
be  detected  in  the  fact  that  his  pursuit  of  knowledge  went 
steadily  forward  after  he  left  school.  Many  men  of  the 
day,  whose  education  suffered  similar  abbreviation,  became 
not  merely  men  of  wide  reading,  but  men  of  immense  learn- 
ing. Ben  Jonson,  whose  erudition  in  the  Latin  and  Greek 
classics  has  for  range  and  insight  very  rarely  been  equalled 
in  England,  was,  according  to  his  own  account,  taken  from 
school  and  put  as  a  lad  to  the  trade  of  bricklaying — ^the  least 
literary  of  all  trades.  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  had  a  very  irregu- 
lar training  in  youth;  he  left  Oxford  soon  after  joining  the 
university,  without  submitting  to  regular  discipline  there, 
yet,  after  a  career  of  great  activity  in  all  departments   of 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  259 

human  effort,  he  wrote  his  History  of  the  World,  a  formida- 
ble compendium  of  learned  and  recondite  research.  Other 
great  writers  of  the  day  owed  little  or  nothing  to  academic 
teaching;  their  wide  reading  was  the  fruit  of  a  natural  taste; 
it  was  under  no  teacher's  control;  it  was  carried  forward  at 
the  same  time  as  they  engaged  in  other  employment. 
Shakespeare,  owing  to  his  interrupted  education,  was  never 
a  trained  scholar;  he  had  defects  of  knowledge  which  were 
impossible  in  a  trained  scholar,  but  he  was  clearly  an  omniv- 
orous reader  from  youth  till  the  end  of  his  days;  he  was  a 
wider  reader  than  most  of  those  who  owed  deeper  debts  to 
schools  or  colleges. 

II 

Shakespeare's   father  intended  that  he  should  assist  him 

in  his  own  multifarious  business  of  glover,  butcher,  and  the 

rest.     But  this  occupation  was  uncongenial  to  the 

^  ^  Experi- 

young  man,  and  he  successfully  escaped  from  it.     ences  of 

He  developed  early.  At  eighteen  he  married 
hastily,  to  the  not  unnatural  annoyance  of  his  parents.  Very 
soon  afterwards  his  genius  taught  him  that  he  required  a 
larger  scope  for  its  development  than  the  narrow  associations 
of  a  domestic  hearth  in  a  little  country  town  could  afford 
him.  At  twenty-two,  like  hundreds  of  other  young  English- 
men of  ability,  of  ambition,  and  of  high  spirits,  he  set  his 
face  towards  the  capital  city  of  the  country,  towards  London, 
where  he  found  his  goal. 

The  drama  was  in  its  infancy.     The  first  theatre  built  in 
England    was    not    a    dozen    years    old    when    Shakespeare 
arrived    in   the    metropolis.      The   theatre   was    a    The  infant 
new  institution  in  the  social  life  of  Shakespeare's    drama. 
youth.     English  drama  was  an  innovation;  it  was  one  of  the 
latest  fruits  of  the  Renaissance  in  England,  of  the  commin- 


260  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

gling   of   the   new   study   of   classical   drama   with   the   new 

expansion    of    intellectual    power    and    outlook.      A    love    of 

mimicry  is  inherent  in  men,  and  the   Middle  Ages   gratified 

it  by  their  Miracle  Plays,  which  developed  into  Moralities, 

and  Interludes.     In  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  Latin 

and  Greek  plays  were  crudely  imitated  in  English.     But  of 

poetic,  literary,  romantic,  intellectual  drama,  England  knew 

practically  nothing  imtil  Shakespeare  was  of  age.     The  land 

was  just  discovered,  and  its  exploration  was  awaiting  a  leader 

of  men,  a  master  mind. 

There  is  nothing  difficult  or  inexplicable  in  Shakespeare's 

association  with  the  theatre.     It  should  always  be  borne  in 

mind  that  his  conscious  aims  and  ambitions  were 
His  associa- 
tion with        those  of  other  men  of  literary  aspirations  in  this 

the  theatre.  •,  rr^^  t    m 

stirring  epoch.  The  difference  between  the  re- 
sults of  his  endeavours  and  those  of  his  fellows  was  due  to 
the  magic  and  involuntary  working  of  genius,  which,  since 
the  birth  of  time,  has  exercised  as  large  a  charter  as  the 
wind,  to  blow  on  whom  it  pleases.  Speculation  or  debate 
as  to  why  genius  bestowed  its  fullest  inspiration  on  Shake- 
speare, this  youth  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  is  as  futile  a  specu- 
lation as  debate  about  why  he  was  born  into  the  world  with 
a  head  on  his  shoulders  at  all  instead  of,  say,  a  block  of 
stone.  It  is  enough  for  prudent  men  and  women  to  ac- 
knowledge the  obvious  fact  that  genius  in  an  era  of  infinite 
intellectual  energy  endowed  Shakespeare,  the  Stratford-on- 
Avon  boy,  with  its  richest  gifts.  A  very  small  acquaintance 
with  the  literary  history  of  the  world,  and  the  manner  in 
which  genius  habitually  plays  its  part  there,  will  show  the 
folly  of  cherishing  astonishment  that  Shakespeare,  of  Strat- 
ford-on-Avon, rather  than  one  more  nobly  born,  or  more 
academically  trained,  should,  in  an  age  so  rich  in  intellectual 
and  poetic  impulse,  have  been  chosen  for  the  glorious  dignity. 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  261 

In  London  Shakespeare's  work  was  mainly  done.     There 

his  reputation  and  fortune  were  achieved.      But  his   London 

career    opened     under    many    disadvantages.       A 

^  ^  His  associa- 

vouna:  man  of  twenty-two,  burdened  with  a  wife    tionwith 
^         ^  ^  '  .  ,  London, 

and  three  children,  he  had  left  his  home  in  his 

little  native  town  about  1586  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  great 

city.     Without  friends,  and  without  money,  he  had,  like  many 

another  stage-struck  youth,  set  his  heart  on  a  two-fold  quest. 

He  would  become  an  actor  in  the  metropolis,  and  would  write 

the  plays  in  which  he  should  act.     Fortune  did  not  at  first 

conspicuously   favour   him;   he   sought   and   won   the   menial 

office  of  call-boy  in  a  London  playhouse,  and  was  only  after 

some  delay  promoted  to  humble  duties   on  the   stage  itself. 

But  no  sooner  had  his  foot  touched  the  lowest  rung  of  the 

theatrical  ladder,  than  he   felt   intuitively   that   the  topmost 

rung  was  within  his  reach.    He  tried  his  hand  on  the  revision 

of  an  old  play  in  the  theatrical  repertory,  a  play  which  was 

about  to  be  revived.     The  manager  was  not  slow  to  recognise 

the  gift  for  dramatic  writing. 


Ill 

Shakespeare's  period  of  probation  was  not  short.     He  did 

not  leap  at  a  bound  to  fame  and  fortune.     Neither  came  in 

sight  until  he  had  worked  for  seven  or  eight  years 

^  &       ^  The  period 

in   obscurity   and  hardship.      During  these   years    ofproba- 

he  accumulated  knowledge  in  very  varied  fields 
of  study  and  experience.  Rapid  power  of  intuition  character- 
ised many  another  great  writer  of  the  day,  but  none  possessed 
it  in  the  same  degree  as  himself.  Shakespeare's  biographers 
have  sometimes  failed  to  make  adequate  allowance  for  his 
power  of  acquiring  information  with  almost  the  rapidity  of  a 


262  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

lightning  flash,  and  they  have  ignored  altogether  the  circum- 
stance that  to  some  extent  his  literary  contemporaries  shared 
this  power  with  him.  The  habit  of  viewing  Shakespeare  in 
isolation  has  given  birth  to  many  misconceptions. 

The  assumption  of  Shakespeare's  personal  association  in 
early  days  with  the  profession  of  the  law  is  a  good  illus- 
TJseoflaw  tration  of  the  sort  of  misunderstanding  which  has 
terms.  corrupted  accounts  of  Shakespeare's  career.     None 

can  question  the  fact  of  Shakespeare's  frequent  use  of  law 
terms.  But,  the  theory  that  during  his  early  life  in  London 
he  practised  law  in  one  or  other  professional  capacity  be- 
comes perfectly  superfluous  as  soon  as  his  knowledge  of  law 
is  compared  with  that  of  other  Elizabethan  poets,  and  its 
intuitive,   rather   than   professional,   character   appreciated. 

It  is  true  that  Shakespeare  employs  a  long  series  of  law 
terms  with  accuracy  and  is  in  the  habit  of  using  legal  meta- 
phors. But  the  careful  inquirer  will  also  perceive  that 
instances  of  '  bad  law '  or  unsound  interpretation  of  legal 
principles  are  almost  as  numerous  in  Shakespeare's  work  as 
instances  of  '  good  law '  or  right  interpretation  of  legal  prin- 
ciples. On  that  aspect  of  the  problem  writers  are  as  a  rule 
tantalisingly  silent. 

If  we  are  content  to  keep  Shakespeare  apart  from  his 
contemporaries,  or  to  judge  him  exclusively  by  the  practice 
of  imaginative  writers  of  recent  times,  the  circumstance  that 
he  often  borrows  metaphors  or  terminology  from  the  law 
may  well  appear  to  justify  the  notion  that  personal  experi- 
ence of  the  profession  is  the  best  explanation  of  his  practice. 
But  the  problem  assumes  a  very  different  aspect 

ofcontem-  when  it  is  perceived  that  Shakespeare's  fellow- 
poraries. 

writers,  Ben  Jonson  and  Spenser,   Massinger  and 

Webster,   employed   law   terms   with    no   less    frequency    and 

facility  than  he.     It  can  be  stated  with  the  utmost  confidence 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  263 

that  none  of  these  men  engaged  in  the  legal  profession. 
Spenser's  Faerie  Queene  seems  the  least  likely  place  wherein 
to  study  Elizabethan  law.     But  Spenser  in  his  romantic  epic 

is   even   more   generous   than    Shakespeare   in   his 

Spenser's 

plays   in   technical  references  to  legal   procedure,     use  of  law 

terms. 

Take  such  passages  as  the   following.     The  first 

forms  a  technical  commentary  on  the  somewhat  obscure  law 
of  *  alluvion,'  with  which  Shakespeare  shows  no  sign  of  ac- 
quaintance : — 

*For  that  a  waif,  the  which  by  fortune  came 
Upon  your  seas,  he  claim'd  as  property: 
And  yet  nor  his,  nor  his  in  equity. 
But  yours  the  waif  by  high  prerogative. 
Therefore  I  hmnbly  crave  your  Majesty 
It  to  replevie,  and  my  son  reprieve. 
So  shall  you  by  one  gift  save  all  us  three  alive/  * 

In  the  second  passage  a  definite  form  of  legal  practice  is 
fully  and  accurately  described: — 

*  Fair  Mirabella  was  her  name,  whereby 
Of  all  those  crimes  she  there  indicted  was: 
All  which  when  Cupid  heard,  he  by  and  by. 
In  great  displeasure  willed  a  Capias 
Should  issue  forth  t'attach  that  scornful  lass. 
The  warrant  straight  was  made,  and  there  withal 
A  Bailiff-errant  forth  in  post  did  pass. 
Whom  they  by  name  there  Portamore  did  call; 
He  which  doth  summon  lovers  to  love's  judgment  hall. 
The  damsel  was  attached,  and  shortly  brought 
Unto  the  bar  whereas  she  was  arraigned; 
But  she  thereto  nould  plead,  nor  answer  aught 
Even  for  stubborn  pride  which  her  restrained. 
So  judgment  passed,  as  is  by  law  ordained 
In  cases  like.'  ^ 

>  Faerie  Queene,  Bk.  iv.,  canto  xii.,  stanza  xxxi. 

2  Faerie  Queene,  Bk.  vi.,  canto  vii.,  stanzas  xxxv.  and  xxxvi. 


264  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

It  will  be  noticed  by  readers  of  these  quotations  that 
Spenser  makes  free  with  strangely  recondite  technical  terms. 
Spenser's  ^^^  ^^^^  '  replevie/  in  the  first  quotation,  means 
recondite  <  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^  disputed  property,  after  giving  se- 
phrases.  curity    to    test    at    law    the    question    of    rightful 

ownership  * ;  the  technicality  is  to  modern  ears  altogether 
out  of  harmony  with  the  language  of  the  Muses,  and  is 
rarely  to  be  matched  in  Shakespeare. 

Such  examples  could  be  multiplied  almost  indefinitely  from 
Shake-  Spenser,  Ben  Jonson,  and  scores  of  their  contem- 

conformity  poraries.  The  questions  '  Was  Spenser  a  lawyer?  ' 
^miS^^  or  'Was  Ben  Jonson  a  lawyer?'  have  as  far  as 
habit.  jjiy  biographical  studies   go,  not  yet  been  raised. 

Were  they  raised,  they  could  be  summarily  answered  in  the 
negative. 

No  peculiar  biographical  significance  can  attach  therefore, 
apart  from  positive  evidence  no  title  of  which  exists,  to 
Shakespeare's  legal  phraseology.  Social  intercourse  between 
men  of  letters  and  lawyers  was  exceptionally  active  in  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries.  In  view  of  the  sensi- 
tiveness to  environment,  in  view  of  the  mental  receptivity 
of  all  great  writers  of  the  day,  it  becomes  unnecessary  to 
assign  to  any  more  special  causes  the  prevailing  predilection 
for  legal  language  in  contemporary  literature.  The  fre- 
quency with  which  law  terms  are  employed  by  Shakespeare's 
contemporaries,  who  may  justly  be  denied  all  practical  ex- 
perience of  the  profession  of  law,  confutes  the  conclusion 
that  Shakespeare,  because  he  used  law  terms,  was  at  the 
outset  of  his  career  in  London  a  practising  lawyer  or  lawyer's 
clerk.  The  only  just  conclusion  to  be  drawn  by  Shakespeare's 
biographer  from  his  employment  of  law  terms  is  that  the 
great  dramatist  in  this  feature,  as  in  numerous  other  features, 
of  his  work  was  merely  proving  the  readiness  with  which  he 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  265 

identified  himself  with  the  popular  literary  habits  of  his  day. 
All  Shakespeare's  mental  energy,  it  may  safely  be  premised, 
was  absorbed  throughout  his  London  career  by  his  dramatic 
ambition.  He  had  no  time  to  make  acquaintance  at  first  hand 
with  the  technical  procedure  of  another  profession. 


IV 

It  was  not  probably  till  1591,  when  he  was  twenty-seven, 
that  Shakespeare's  earliest  original  play.  Lovers  Labour's 
Lost,  was  performed.  It  showed  the  hand  of  a  be- 
ginner; it  abounded  in  trivial  witticisms.  But  fpea^e's 
above  all  there  shone  out  clearly  and  unmistakably  ^^^^^  P^^^^* 
the  dramatic  and  poetic  fire,  the  humorous  outlook  on  life,  the 
insight  into  human  feeling,  which  were  to  inspire  Titanic 
achievements  in  the  future.  Soon  after,  he  scaled  the  tragic 
heights  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  he  was  rightly  hailed  as 
the  prophet  of  a  new  world  of  art.  Thenceforth  he  marched 
onward  in  triumph. 

Fashionable  London   society  befriended  the  new  birth   of 

the    theatre.      Cultivated    noblemen    offered    their    patronage 

to  promising  actors  or  writers  for  the  stage,  and 

ct,   1  .       1    .,  .      ,  The  Earl  of 

fcnakespeare   soon    gamed   the   ear   of   the   young    Southamp- 

Earl   of    Southampton,    one   of    the    most   accom- 
plished and  handsome  of  the  Queen's  noble  courtiers.     The 
earl  was  said  to  spend  nearly  all  his  leisure  at  the  playhouse 
every  day. 

It  is  not  always  borne  in  mind  that  Shakespeare  gained 
soon  after  the  earliest  of  his  theatrical  successes  notable 
recognition  from  the  highest  in  the  land,  from  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, and  her  Court.  It  was  probably  at  the  suggestion  of  his 
enthusiastic  patron.  Lord  Southampton,  that,  in  the  week  pre- 
ceding the  Christmas  of  1594,  when  Shakespeare  was  thirty. 


266  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

and  he  had  just  turned  the  corner  of  his  career,  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  sent  a  stirring  message  to  the  theatre  in  Shore- 
ditch,  where  Shakespeare  was  at  work  as  playwright  and  actor. 
The  young  dramatist  was  ordered  to  present  himself  at  Court 
for  two  days  following  Christmas,  and  to  give  his  sovereign  on 
each  of  the  two  evenings  a  taste  of  his  quality. 

The  invitation  was   of  singular   interest.      It  cannot  have 
been    Shakespeare's    promise    as    an    actor    that    led    to    the 

„,   ,  royal  summons.     His  histrionic  fame  did  not  pro- 

Shake-  ^ 

speareat        gress  at  the  same  rate  as  his  literary  repute.     He 

was  never  to  win  the  laurels  of  a  great  actor. 
His  most  conspicuous  triumph  on  the  stage  was  achieved  in 
middle  life  as  the  Ghost  in  his  own  Hamlet,  and  he  ordinarily 
confined  his  efforts  to  old  men  of  secondary  rank.  Ample 
compensation  for  his  personal  deficiencies  as  an  actor  was 
provided  by  the  merits  of  his  companions  on  his  first  visit  to 
Court;  he  was  to  come  supported  by  actors  of  the  highest 
eminence  in  their  generation.  Directions  were  given  that 
the  greatest  of  the  tragic  actors  of  the  day,  Richard  Burbage, 
and  the  greatest  of  the  comic  actors,  William  Kemp,  were 
to  bear  the  young  actor-dramatist  company.  With  neither  of 
these  was  Shakespeare's  histrionic  position  then,  or  at  any 
time,  comparable.  For  years  they  were  the  leaders  of  the 
acting  profession.  Shakespeare's  relations  with  Burbage  and 
Kemp  were  close,  both  privately  and  professionally.  Almost 
all  Shakespeare's  great  tragic  characters  were  created  on  the 
stage  by  Burbage,  who  had  lately  roused  London  to  enthu- 
siasm by  his  stirring  representation  of  Shakespeare's  Richard 
III.  for  the  first  time.  As  long  as  Kemp  lived  he  conferred 
a  like  service  on  many  of  Shakespeare's  comic  characters,  and 
he  had  recently  proved  his  worth  as  a  Shakespearian  comedian 
by  his  original  rendering  of  the  part  of  Peter,  the  Nurse's 
graceless   serving-man,  in  Romeo  and  Juliet.      Thus   power- 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  267 

fully  supported,  Shakespeare  appeared  for  the  first  time  in 
the  royal  presence-chamber  in  Greenwich  Palace  on  the  even- 
ing of  St.  Stephen's  Day  (the  Boxing-day  of  subsequent 
generations)  in  1594?. 

Extant  documentary  evidence  of  this  visit  of  Shakespeare 
to  Court  may  be  seen  in  the  manuscript  account  of  the 
*  Treasurer  of  the  [royal]  chamber '  now  in  the  ^  perfonn- 
Public  Record  Office  in  London.  The  document  g^^^^^f^ 
attests  that  Shakespeare  and  his  two  associates  ^^^^• 
performed  one  '  Comedy  or  Interlude  '  on  that  night  of  Box- 
ing-day in  1594,  and  gave  another  *  Comedy  or  Interlude*  on 
the  next  night  but  one  (on  Innocents'-day) ;  that  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  paid  the  three  men  for  their  services  the  sum 
of  £13,  6s.  8d.,  and  that  the  Queen  added  to  the  honorarium, 
as  a  personal  proof  of  her  satisfaction,  the  further  sum  of 
£6,  13s.  4d.  The  remuneration  was  thus  £20  in  all.  These 
were  substantial  sums  in  those  days,  when  the  purchasing 
power  of  money  was  eight  times  as  much  as  it  is  to-day,  and 
the  three  actors'  reward  would  now  be  equivalent  to  .£l60. 
Unhappily  the  record  does  not  go  beyond  the  payment  of 
the  money.  What  words  of  commendation  or  encouragement 
Shakespeare  received  from  his  royal  auditor  are  not  handed 
down  to  us,  nor  do  we  know  for  certain  what  plays  were 
performed  on  the  great  occasion.  It  is  reasonable  to  infer 
that  all  the  scenes  came  from  Shakespeare's  repertory.  Prob- 
ably they  were  drawn  from  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  which  was 
always  popular  in  later  years  at  Elizabeth's  Court,  and  from 
The  Comedy  of  Errors,  in  which  the  farcical  confusions  and 
horse-play  were  calculated  to  gratify  the  Queen's  robust 
taste.  But  nothing  can  be  stated  with  absolute  certainty 
except  that  on  December  29,  1594,  Shakespeare  travelled  up 
the  River  Thames  from  Greenwich  to  London  with  a  heavier 
purse  and  a  lighter  heart  than  on  his  setting  out.     That  the 


268  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

visit  had  in  all  ways  been  crowned  with  success  there  is  ample 
indirect  evidence.  He  and  his  work  had  fascinated  his 
sovereign,  and  many  a  time  was  she  to  seek  delight  again  in 
the  renderings  of  his  plays,  by  himself  and  his  fellow  actors, 
at  her  palaces  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames  during  her  re- 
maining nine  years  of  life. 

When,  a  few  months  later,  Shakespeare  was  penning  his 
new  play  of  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  he  could  not  for- 
bear to  make  a  passing  obeisance  of  gallantry  (in 

speare's  that  vein   for  which  the  old  spinster   queen  was 

gallantry. 

always  thirsting)  to  *  a  fair  vestal  throned  by  the 

West,*  who  passed  her  life  *  in  maiden  meditation,  fancy 
free.' 

The  interest  that  Shakespeare's  work  excited  at  the  Court 
was  continuous  throughout  his  life,  and  helped  to  render  his 
Continu-  position  unassailable.  When  James  i.  ascended 
Com-t*  the  throne,  no  author  was   more  frequently  hon- 

favour.  oured  by  *  command '   performances  of  his   plays 

in  the  presence  of  the  sovereign.  Then,  as  now,  the  play- 
goer's appreciation  was  quickened  by  his  knowledge  that  the 
play  he  was  witnessing  had  been  produced  before  the  Court 
at  Greenwich  or  Whitehall  a  few  days  earlier.  Shakespeare's 
publishers  were  not  above  advertising  facts  like  these,  as  the 
Publisher's  title-pagcs  of  quarto  editions  published  in  his 
menteof^  lifetime  sufficiently  prove.  *  The  pleasant  con- 
the  fact.  ceited  comedy  called  Love*s  Labour's  Lost  *  was 

advertised  with  the  appended  words,  *  as  it  was  presented 
before  her  highness  this  last  Christmas.*  *  A  most  pleasant 
and  excellent  conceited  comedy  of  Sir  John  Falstaff  and  the 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor '  was  stated  to  have  been  *  divers 
times  acted  both  before  her  Majesty  and  elsewhere.'  The 
ineffably  great  play  of  King  Lear  was  advertised  with  some- 
thing like  tradesmanlike  effrontery  *  as  it  was  played  before 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  269 

the  King's  Majesty  at  Whitehall  on  St.  Stephen's   Night  in 
the  Christmas  Holidays.' 


But  the  Court  never  stood  alone  in  its  admiration  of 
Shakespeare's  work.     Court  and  crowd  never  differed  in  their 

estimation   of   his   dramatic  power.      There   is   no 

The  favour 

doubt  that  Shakespeare  conspicuously  caught  the    of  the 

crowd. 

ear   of   the   Elizabethan   playgoers    of   all  classes 

at  a  very  early  date  in  his  career,  and  held  it  firmly  for  life. 
*  These  plays/  wrote  two  of  his  professional  associates  of 
the  reception  of  the  whole  series  in  the  playhouse  during  his 
lifetime,  *  these  plays  have  had  their  trial  already,  and  stood 
out  all  appeals.'  Equally  significant  is  Ben  Jonson's 
apostrophe  of  Shakespeare  as 

*The  applause,  delight,  and  wonder  of  our  stage.' 

A  charge  has  sometimes  been  brought  against  the  Eliza- 
bethan playgoer  of  failing  to  recognise  Shakespeare's  sov- 
ereign  genius.      That  accusation   should  be   reck- 

^       ^  Popular 

oned  among  popular  fallacies.     It  was  not  merely     fallacy  of 

Shake- 
the    recognition    of   the   fashionable,    the    critical,    speare's 

the  highly-educated,  that  Shakespeare  personally 
received.  It  was  by  the  voice  of  the  half-educated  populace, 
whose  heart  and  intellect  were  for  once  in  the  right,  that  he 
was  acclaimed  the  greatest  interpreter  of  human  nature  that 
literature  had  known,  and,  as  subsequent  experience  has 
proved,  was  likely  to  know.  There  is  evidence  that  through- 
out his  lifetime  and  for  a  generation  afterwards  his  plays 
drew  crowds  to  pit,  boxes,  and  gallery  alike.  It  is  true  that  he 
was  one  of  a  number  of  popular  dramatists,  many  of  whom 
had  rare  gifts,  and  all  of  whom  glowed  with  a  spark  of  the 
genuine  literary  fire.     But  Shakespeare  was  the  sun  in  the 


270  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

firmament;  when  his  light  shone  the  fires  of  all  contempo- 
raries paled  in  the  contemporary  playgoer's  eye.  Very  forcible 
and  very  humorous  was  the  portrayal  of  human  frailty  and 
eccentricity  in  the  plays  of  Shakespeare's  contemporary,  Ben 
Jonson.  Ben  Jonson,  too,  was  a  fine  classical  scholar,  which 
Shakespeare,  despite  his  general  knowledge  of  Latin,  was 
not.  But  when  Shakespeare  and  Ben  Jonson  both  tried  their 
hands  at  dramatising  episodes  in  Roman  history,  the  Eliza- 
bethan public  of  all  degrees  of  intelligence  welcomed  Shake- 
speare's efforts  with  an  enthusiasm  which  they  rigidly  with- 
held from  Ben  Jonson's.  This  is  how  an  ordinary  playgoer 
contrasted  in  crude  verse  the  reception  of  Jonson's  Roman 
play  of  Catiline's  Conspiracy  with  that  of  Shakespeare's 
Roman  play   of  Julius   Caesar: — 

'So  have  I  seen  when  Caesar  would  appear. 
And  on  the  stage  at  half -sword  parley  were 
Brutus  and  Cassius — oh !  how  the  audience 
Were  ravished,  with  what  wonder  they  went  thence; 
When  some  new  day  they  would  not  brook  a  Kne 
Of  tedious  though  well-laboured  Catiline.' 

Jonson's  *  tedious  though  well-laboured  Catiline  *  was  un- 
endurable when  compared  with  the  ravishing  interest  of 
Julius  Caesar.     Shakespeare  was  the  popular  favourite.     It  is 

rare  that  the  artist  who  is  a  hero  with  the  multi- 
Shake- 

speare'a  tude  is  also  a  hero  with  the  cultivated  few.     But 

univer-  oi     i  t  n  i  i. 

sality  of  Shakespeare  s  universality  of  appeal  was  such  as 

to   include   among   his   worshippers   from   first  to 

last  the  trained  and  the  untrained  playgoer  of  his  time. 


VI 

Shakespeare's  work  was  exceptionally  progressive  in  qual- 
ity; few  authors  advanced  in  their  art  more  steadily.  His 
hand    grew   firmer,    his    thought   grew    richer,    as    his    years 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  271 

increased,  and  apart  from  external  evidence  as  to  the  date  of 
production  or  publication  of  his  plays,  the  discerning  critic 
can  determine  from  the  versification,  and  from  the  progres- 
general  handling  of  his  theme,  to  what  period  in  o7his"^  ^ 
his  life  each  composition  belongs.  All  the  dif-  '*^°^^- 
ferences  discernible  in  Shakespeare's  plays  clearly  prove 
the  gradual  but  steady  development  of  dramatic  power  and 
temper;  they  separate  with  definiteness  early  from  late  work. 
The  comedies  of  Shakespeare's  younger  days  often  trench 
upon  the  domains  of  farce;  those  of  his  middle  and  later 
life  approach  the  domain  of  tragedy.  Tragedy  in  his  hands 
markedly  grew,  as  his  years  advanced,  in  subtlety  and  in- 
tensity. His  tragic  themes  became  more  and  more  complex, 
and  betrayed  deeper  and  deeper  knowledge  of  the  workings 
of  human  passion.  Finally  the  storm  and  stress  of  tragedy 
yielded  to  the  placid  pathos  of  romance.  All  the  evidence 
shows  that,  when  his  years  of  probation  ended,  he  mastered 
in  steady  though  rapid  succession  every  degree  and  phase  of 
excellence  in  the  sphere  of  drama,  from  the  phantasy  of 
A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  to  the  unmatchable  humour  of 
Falstaff,  from  the  passionate  tragedies  of  King  Lear  and 
Othello  to  the  romantic  pathos  of  Cymheline  and  The 
Tempest. 

VII 

Another   side   of    Shakespeare's    character   and   biography 
deserves   attention.      He   was   not   merely   a   great   poet   and 
dramatist,  endowed  with  imagination  without  rival     jjig  prac- 
or  parallel  in  human  history;  he  was  a  practical     Jintof      " 
man    of    the    world.      His    work    proves    that    his     ^^^1^3. 
unique  intuition  was  not  merely  that  of  a  man  of  imaginative 
genius,   but   that   of   a  man  who   was   deeply   interested   and 
well  versed  in  the  affairs  of  everyday  life.     With  that  practi- 


272  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

cal  sense,  which  commonly  characterises  the  man  of  the 
world,  Shakespeare  economised  his  powers  and  spared  his 
inventive  energy,  despite  its  abmidance,  wherever  his  purpose 
could  be  served  by  levying  loans  on  the  writings  of  others. 
He  rarely  put  himself  to  the  pains  of  inventing  a  plot  for 
his  dramas;  he  borrowed  his  fables  from  popular  current 
literature,  such  as  Holinshed's  Chronicles,  North's  translation 
of  Plutarch's  Lives,  widely  read  romances,  or  even  plays  that 
had  already  met  with  more  or  less  success  on  the  stage.  It 
was  not  merely  '  airy  nothings  '  and  *  forms  of  things  un- 
known ' — the  creatures  of  his  imagination — that  found  in  his 
dramas  '  a  local  habitation  and  a  name  ' ;  he  depended  very 
often  on  the  solid  fruit  of  serious  reading.  By  such  a 
method  he  harboured  his  strength,  at  the  same  time  as  he 
deliberately  increased  his  hold  on  popular  taste.  He  dimin- 
ished the  risk  of  failure  to  satisfy  the  standard  of  public 
culture.  Naturally  he  altered  his  borrowed  plots  as  his  sense 
of  artistic  fitness  dictated,  or  refashioned  them  altogether. 
From  rough  ore  he  usually  extracted  pure  gold,  but  there  was 
business  aptitude  in  his  mode  of  gathering  the  ore.  In  like 
manner  the  amount  of  work  he  accomplished  in  the  twenty 
years  of  his  active  professional  career  amply  proves  his  steady 
power  of  application,  and  the  regularity  with  which  he 
pursued  his  literary  vocation. 

Appreciation  of  his  practical  mode  of  literary  work  should 
leave  no  room  for  surprise  at  the  discovery  that  he  engaged 
with  success  in  the  practical  affairs  of  life  which  lay  outside 

the  sphere  of  his  art.     As  soon  as  the  popularity 
The  return  ^  ,  i   , 

toStrat-       .  of  his  work  for  the  theatre  was  assured,  and  he 

had  acquired  by  way  of   reward  a  valuable   and 

profitable  share  in  the  profits  of  the  company  to  which  he 

was  attached,  Shakespeare  returned  to  his  native  place,  filled 

with  the  ambition  of  establishing  his  family  there  on  a  sure 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  273 

footing.  His  father's  debts  had  grown  in  his  absence,  and 
his  wife  had  had  to  borrow  money  for  her  support.  But  his 
return  in  prosperous  circumstances  finally  relieved  his  kindred 
of  pecuniary  anxiety.  He  purchased  the  largest  house  in  the 
town.  New  Place,  and,  like  other  actors  of  the  day,  faced 
a  long  series  of  obstacles  in  an  effort  to  obtain  for  his  family 
a  coat  of  arms.  He  invested  money  in  real  estate  at  Strat- 
ford; he  acquired  arable  land  as  well  as  pasture.  His  Strat- 
ford neighbours,  who  had  known  him  as  a  poor  lad,  now 
appealed  to  him  for  loans  or  gifts  of  money  in  their  need, 
and  for  the  exercise  of  his  influence  in  their  behalf  in 
London.  He  proved  himself  a  rigorous  man  in  all  business 
matters  with  his  neighbours,  asserting  his  legal  rights  in  all 
financial  relations  in  the  local  courts,  where  he  often  appeared 
as  plaintiff,  and  usually  came  off  victorious.  His  average 
income  in  later  life  was  reputed  by  his  neighbours  to  exceed 
a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

No  mystery  attaches  to  Shakespeare's  financial  competency. 
It  is  easily  traceable  to  his  professional  earnings — as  author, 

actor,     and    theatrical     shareholder — and    to     his 

'  His  nnan- 

shrewd  handling  of  his  revenues.     Shakespeare's     cialcom- 
°  petence. 

ultimate  financial  position  differs  little  from  that 

which  his  fellow  theatrical  managers  and  actors  made  for 
themselves.  The  profession  of  the  theatre  flourished  con- 
spicuously in  his  day,  and  brought  fortunes  to  most  of 
those  who  shared  in  theatrical  management.  Shakespeare's 
professional  friends  and  colleagues — ^leading  actors  and 
managers  of  the  playhouses — were  in  late  life  men  of 
substance.  Like  him,  they  had  residences  in  both  town 
and  country;  they  owned  houses  and  lands;  and  laid  ques- 
tionable  claim  to   coat  armour.^      Edward   Alleyn,   an   actor 

» A  manuscript  tract,  entitled  '  A  brief  discourse  of  the  causes  of  the 
discord  amongst  the  officers  of  Arms  and  of  the  great  abuses  and  absurdi- 

S 


274  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

and  playhouse  manager,  began  life  in  much  the  same  way  as 
Shakespeare,,  and  was  only  two  years  his  junior;  at  the 
munificent  expense  of  ten  thousand  pounds  he  endowed  out 
of  his  theatrical  earnings,  after  making  due  provision  for  his 
family,  the  great  College  of  God's  Gift,  with  almshouses 
attached,  at  Dulwich,  within  four  miles  of  the  theatrical 
quarter  of  Southwark.  The  explanation  of  such  wealth  is  not 
far  to  seek.  The  fascination  of  novelty  still  hung  about  the 
theatre  even  when  Shakespeare  retired  from  work.  The 
Elizabethans,  and  the  men  and  women  in  Jacobean  England, 
were — excepting  those  of  an  ultra-pious  disposition — en- 
thusiastic playgoers  and  seekers  after  amusement,  and  the 
stirring  recreation  which  the  playhouse  provided  was  gener- 
ously and  even  extravagantly  remunerated.     There  is  nothing 

ties  committed  to  the  prejudice  and  hindrance  of  the  office,'  was  recently- 
lent  me  by  its  owner.  It  is  in  the  handwriting  of  one  of  the  smaller  officials 
of  the  College  of  Arms,  WilUam  Smith,  rouge  dragon  pursuivant,  and 
throws  curious  light  on  the  passion  for  heraldry  which  infested  Shakespeare's 
actor-colleagues.  Rouge-dragon  specially  mentions  in  illustration  of  his 
theme  two  of  Shakespeare's  professional  colleagues,  namely  Augustine 
Phillipps  and  Thomas  Pope,  both  of  whose  names  are  enshrined  in  that  leaf 
of  the  great  First  Folio  which  enumerates  the  principal  actors  of  Shake- 
speare's plays  during  his  lifetime.  Augustine  Phillipps  was  an  especially 
close  friend,  and  left  Shakespeare  by  his  will  a  thirty  shilling  piece  in  gold. 
Both  these  men.  Pope  and  Phillipps,  according  to  the  manuscript,  spared 
no  effort  to  obtain  and  display  that  hall-mark  of  gentility — a  coat  of  arms. 
Both  made  unjustifiable  claim  to  be  connected  with  persons  of  high  rank. 
When  applying  for  coat-armour  to  the  College  of  Arms,  '  Pope  the  player,' 
we  are  told,  wotild  have  no  other  arms  than  those  of  Sir  Thomas  Pope,  a 
courtier  and  pri\^  councillor,  who  died  early  in  Elizabeth's  reign,  and 
perpetuated  his  name  by  founding  a  college  at  Oxford,  Trinity  College. 
The  only  genuine  tie  between  him  and  the  player  was  identity  of  a  not  un- 
common surname.  Phillipps  the  player  claimed  similar  relations  with  a 
remoter  hero,  one  Sir  William  Phillipps,  a  warrior  who  won  reno^vm  at  Agin- 
court,  and  who  was  allowed  to  bear  his  father-in-law's  title  of  Lord  Bardolph 
— a  title  very  familiar  to  readers  of  Shakespeare  in  a  different  connection. 
The  actor  Phillipps,  to  the  disgust  of  the  heraldic  critic,  caused  the  arms 
of  this  spurious  ancestor.  Sir  WilUam  Phillipps,  Lord  Bardolph,  to  be  en- 
graved with  due  quarterings  on  a  gold  ring.  The  critic  tells  how  he  went 
with  a  colleague  to  a  small  graver's  shop  in  Foster  Lane,  in  the  City,  and 
saw  the  ring  that  had  been  engraved  for  the  player. 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  275 

exceptional  either  in  the  amount  of  the  profits  which  Shake- 
speare derived  from  connection  with  theatrical  enterprise  or 
in  the  manner  in  which  he  spent  them. 


VIII 

Finally,  about  I6II,  Shakespeare  made  Stratford  his  per- 
manent home.  He  retired  from  the  active  exercise  of  his 
profession,  in  order  to  enjoy  those  honours  and  jjis  last 
privileges  which,  according  to  the  prevailing  social  ^^y^. 
code,  wealth  only  brought  in  full  measure  to  a  playwright 
after  he  ceased  actively  to  follow  his  career.  Shakespeare 
practically  admitted  that  his  final  aim  was  what  at  the  outset 
of  his  days  he  had  defined  as  *  the  aim  of  all '  : 

*The  aim  of  all  is  but  to  nurse  this  life 
Unto  honour,  wealth,  and  ease  in  waning  age.* 

Shakespeare  probably  paid  occasional  visits  to  London  in 
the  five  years  that  intervened  between  his  retirement  from 
active  life  and  his  death.  In  1613  he  purchased  a  house  in 
Blackfriars,  apparently  merely  by  way  of  investment.  He 
then  seems,  too,  to  have  disposed  of  his  theatrical  shares. 
For  the  work  of  his  life  was  over,  and  he  devoted  the  evening 
of  his  days  to  rest  in  his  native  place,  and  to  the  undisturbed 
tenure  of  the  respect  of  his  neighbours.  He  was  on  good 
terms  with  the  leading  citizens  of  Stratford,  and  occasionally 
invited  literary  friends  from  London  to  be  his  guests.  In 
local  politics  he  took  a  very  modest  part.  There  he  figured 
on  the  side  of  the  wealthy,  and  showed  little  regard  for 
popular  rights,  especially  when  they  menaced  property.  At 
length,  early  in  I616,  when  his  fifty-second  year  was  closing, 
his  health  began  to  fail,  and  he  died  in  his  great  house  at 
Stratford  on  Tuesday,  April  23,  1616,  probably  on  his  fifty- 
second  birthday. 


276  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Shakespeare  carefully  attended  in  the  last  months  of  his 
life  to  the  disposition  of  his  property,  which  consisted,  apart 
from  houses  and  lands,  of  £350  in  money  (nearly 
■£3000  in  modern  currency),  and  much  valuable 
plate  and  other  personalty.  His  wife  and  two  daughters  sur- 
vived him.  He  left  the  bulk  of  his  possessions  to  his  elder 
daughter,  Susanna,  who  was  married  to  a  medical  practitioner 
at  Stratford,  John  Hall.  He  bequeathed  nothing  to  his  wife 
except  his  second  best  bedstead,  probably  because  she  had 
smaller  business  capacity  to  deal  with  property  than  her 
daughter  Susanna,  to  whose  affectionate  care  she  was  en- 
trusted. Shakespeare's  younger  daughter,  Judith,  was  ade- 
quately provided  for;  and  to  his  granddaughter,  his  elder 
daughter's  daughter,  Elizabeth,  who  was  ultimately  his  last 
direct  survivor,  he  left  most  of  his  plate.  The  legatees  in- 
cluded three  of  the  dramatist's  fellow-actors,  to  each  of  whom 
he  left  a  sum  of  26s.  8d.,  wherewith  to  buy  memorial  rings. 
Such  a  bequest  well  confirms  the  reputation  that  he  enjoyed 
among  his  professional  colleagues  for  geniality  and  gentle 
sympathy.  Other  bequests  show  that  he  reckoned  to  the  last 
his  chief  neighbours  at  Stratford  among  his  intimate  friends. 

Shakespeare  was  buried  in  the  chancel  of  the  church   of 

his  native  town,  Stratford-on-Avon.     On  the  slab 
His  burial.  .i         i  i    n 

of  stone  covermg  the  grave  on  the  cnancel  floor 

were  inscribed  the  lines: 

'Good  frend  for  Jesus  sake  forbeare. 
To  digg  the  dust  encloased  heare: 
Bleste  be  ye  man  yt  spares  thes  stones. 
And  curst  be  he  yt  moves  my  bones.* 

A  justification  of  this  doggerel  inscription  is  (if  needed) 
not  far  to  seek.  According  to  one  William  Hall,  who 
described  a  visit  to  Stratford  in  1694,  these  crude  verses  were 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  277 

penned  by  Shakespeare  to  suit  the  capacity  of  *  clerks  and 
sextons^  for  the  most  part  a  very  ignorant  set  of  people/ 
Had  this  curse  not  threatened  them.  Hall  proceeds,  the  sex- 
ton would  not  have  hesitated  in  course  of  time  to  remove 
Shakespeare's  dust  to  *  the  bone-house/  to  which  desecration 
Shakespeare  had  a  rooted  antipathy.  As  it  was,  the  grave 
was  made  seventeen  feet  deep,  and  was  never  opened,  even 
to  receive  his  wife,  although  she  expressed  a  desire  to  be 
buried  in  the  same  grave  with  her  husband. 

But  more  important  is  it  to  remember  that  a  monument 
was  soon  placed  on  the  chancel  wall  near  his  grave.  The 
inscription  upon  Shakespeare's  tomb  in  Stratford-  Hismonu- 
on-Avon  Church  attests  that  Shakespeare,  the  na-  °^^^*- 
tive  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  who  went  to  London  a  poor  youth 
and  returned  in  middle  life  a  man  of  substance,  was  known 
in  his  native  place  as  the  greatest  man  of  letters  of  his  epoch. 
In  these  days  when  we  hear  doubts  expressed  of  the  fact  that 
the  writer  of  the  great  plays  identified  with  Shakespeare's 
name  was  actually  associated  with  Stratford-on-Avon  at  all, 
this  epitaph  should,  in  the  interests  of  truth  and  good  sense, 
be  learned  by  heart  in  youth  by  every  English-speaking 
person.  The  epitaph  opens  with  a  Latin  distich,  in  which 
Shakespeare  is  likened,  not  perhaps  very  appositely,  to  three 
great  heroes  of  classical  antiquity — in  judgment  to  Nestor, 
in  genius  to  Socrates  (certainly  an  inapt  comparison),  and 
in  art  or  literary  power  to  Virgil,  the  greatest  of  Latin  poets. 
Earth  is  said  to  cover  him,  the  people  to  mourn  him,  and 
Olympus  to  hold  him.  Then  follows  this  English  verse,  not 
brilliant  verse,  but  verse  that  leaves  no  reader  in  doubt  as  to 
its  significance: 

'Stay,  passenger,  why  goest  thou  by  so  fast? 
Read,  if  thou  canst,  whom  envious  death  hath  plast 


278  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Within  this  monument; — Shakespeare,  with  whom 
Quicke  nature  died:  ^  whose  name  doth  deck  this  tombe 
Far  more  than  cost:  sith  all  that  he  hath  writ 
Leaves  living  art  but  page  to  serve  his  wit/ 

There  follows  the  statement  in  Latin  that  he  died  on  23rd 
April  1616. 

'All  that  he  hath  writ 
Leaves  Uving  art  but  page  to  serve  his  wit.' 

These  words  mean  only  one  thing:  at  Stratford-on-Avon, 
his  native  place^  Shakespeare  was  held  to  enjoy  a  universal 
reputation.  Literature  by  all  other  living  pens  was  at  the 
date  of  his  death  only  fit^  in  the  eyes  of  his  f  ellow-townsmen_, 
to  serve  *  all  that  he  had  writ '  as  pageboy  or  menial.  There 
he  was  the  acknowledged  master,  and  all  other  writers  were 
his  servants.  The  epitaph  can  be  explained  in  no  other  sense. 
Until  the  tongue  that  Shakespeare  spoke  is  dead,  so  long 
as  the  English  language  exists  and  is  understood,  it  is  futile 
to  express  doubt  of  the  traditionally  accepted  facts  of  Shake- 
speare's career. 

IX 

The    church    at    Stratford-on-Avon,    which    holds    Shake- 
speare's   bones,    must    always    excite    the    liveliest    sense    of 
,         veneration    among   the    English-speaking    peoples. 

His  elegists.     ^      .        ,  ox  or-r- 

It  is  there  that   is   enshrined  the   final  testimony 
to   his   ascent   by   force  of   genius   from   obscurity   to   glory. 

1  It  is  curious  to  note  that  Cardinal  Pietro  Bembo,  one  of  the  most  culti- 
vated writers  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  was  author  of  the  epitaph  on  the 
painter  Raphael,  which  seems  to  adumbrate  (doubtless  accidentally)  the 
words  in  Shakespeare's  epitaph, '  with  whom  Quicke  Nature  died.'  Bembo's 
lines  run: 

*  Hie  ille  est  Raphael,  metuit  quo  sospite  vinci 
Rervun  magna  parens,  et  moriente,  mori.' 

(*  Here  lies  the  famous  Raphael,  in  whose  lifetime 
great  mother  Nature  feared  to  be  outdone,  and 
at  whose  death  feared  to  die.') 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  279 

But  great  as  is  the  importance  of  the  inscription  on  his 
tomb  to  those  who  would  understand  the  drift  of  Shake- 
speare's personal  history,  it  was  not  the  only  testimony  to 
the  plain  current  of  his  life  that  found  imperishable  record 
in  the  epoch  of  his  death.  Biographers  did  not  lie  in  wait 
for  men  of  eminence  on  their  deathbeds  in  Shakespeare's 
age,  but  the  place  of  the  modern  memoir-writer  was  filled 
in  those  days  by  friendly  poets,  who  were  usually  alert  to  pay 
fit  homage  in  elegiac  verse  to  a  dead  hero's  achievements.  In 
that  regard  Shakespeare's  poetic  friends  showed  at  his  death 
exceptional  energy.  During  his  lifetime  men  of  letters  had 
bestowed  on  his  *  reigning  wit,'  on  his  kingly  supremacy  of 
genius,  most  generous  stores  of  eulogy.  When  Shakespeare 
lay  dead,  in  the  spring  of  I616,  when,  as  one  of  his  admirers 
technically  phrased  it,  he  had  withdrawn  from  the  stage  of 
the  world  to  the  '  tiring-house  '  or  dressing-room  of  the  grave, 
the  flood  of  panegyrical  lamentation  poured  forth  in  a  new 
flood.  One  of  the  earliest  of  the  elegies  was  a  sonnet  by 
William  Basse,  who  not  only  gave  picturesque  expression  to 
the  conviction  that  Shakespeare  would  enjoy  for  all  time  a 
unique  reverence  on  the  part  of  his  countrymen,  but  brought 
into  strong  relief  the  fact  that  national  obsequies  were  held 
by  his  contemporaries  to  be  his  due,  and  that  the  withholding 
of  them  was  contrary  to  a  widely  disseminated  wish.  In 
the  opening  lines  of  his  poem  Basse  apostrophised  Chaucer, 
Spenser,  and  the  dramatist,  Francis  Beaumont,  the  only  three 
poets  who  had  hitherto  received  the  recognition  of  burial  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  Beaumont,  the  youngest  of  the  trio, 
had  been  buried  in  the  Abbey  only  five  weeks  before  Shake- 
speare died.  To  this  honoured  trio  Basse  made  appeal  to 
'  lie  a  thought  more  nigh  '  one  to  another  so  as  to  make  room 
for  the  newly  dead  Shakespeare  within  their  *  sacred 
sepulchre.'     Then,  in  the  second  half  of  his  sonnet^  the  poet 


280  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

justified  the  fact  that  Shakespeare  was  buried  elsewhere  by 
the  reflection  that  he  in  right  of  his  pre-eminence  merited  a 
tomb  apart  from  all  his  fellows.  With  a  glance  at  Shake- 
speare's distant  grave  in  the  chancel  of  Stratford-on-Avon 
churchy  the  writer  exclaimed: 

'Under  this  carved  marble  of  thine  own 
Sleep,  brave  tragedian,  Shakespeare,  sleep  alone* 

This  fine  sentiment  found  many  a  splendid  echo.  It  re- 
sounded in  Ben  Jonson's  noble  lines  prefixed  to  the  First 
Folio  of  1623.  '  To  the  memory  of  my  beloved,  the  author, 
Mr.  William  Shakespeare,  and  what  he  hath  left  us.' 

*My  Shakespeare,  rise!  I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further  to  make  thee  a  room. 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb. 
And  art  alive  still,  while  thy  book  doth  live 
And  we  have  wits  to  read  and  praise  to  give.' 

Milton  qualified  the  conceit  a  few  years  later,  in  1630,  when 
he  declared  that  Shakespeare  '  sepulchred '  in  '  the  monu- 
ment '  of  his  writings, 

*in  such  pomp  doth  lie, 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die.' 

Never  was  a  glorious  immortality  foretold  for  any  man 
with   more   impressive   confidence   than   it   was    foretold    for 

Shakespeare  at  his  death  by  his  circle  of  adorers. 
Prophecy 

ofimmor-  When  Time,  one  elegist  said,  should  dissolve  his 
tality. 

*  Stratford  monument,*  the  laurel  about  Shake- 
speare's brow  would  wear  its  greenest  hue.  Shakespeare's 
critical  friend,  Ben  Jonson,  was  but  one  of  a  numerous  band 
who  imagined  the  *  sweet  swan  of  Avon,'  '  the  star  of  poets,* 
shining  for  ever  as  a  constellation  in  the  firmament.  Ben 
Jonson   did  not   stand   alone   in   anticipating   that   his    fame 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  281 

would  always  shed  a  golden  light  on  his  native  place  of 
Stratford  and  the  river  Avon  which  ran  beside  it.  Such 
was  the  invariable  temper  in  which  literary  men  gave  vent 
to  their  grief  on  learning  the  death  of  the  *  beloved  author/ 

*  the  famous  scenicke  poet/  *  the  admirable  dramaticke  poet/ 

*  that  famous  writer  and  actor/  *  worthy  master  William 
Shakespeare  '  of  Stratf ord-on-Avon. 


When  Shakespeare  died,  on  the  23rd  April  I616,  many  men 
and  women  were  alive  who  had  come  into  personal  association 
with  him,  and  there  were  many  more  who  had  The  oral 
heard  of  him  from  those  who  had  spoken  with  tradition, 
him.  Apart  from  his  numerous  kinsfolk,  his  widow,  sister, 
brother,  daughters,  nephews,  and  neighbours  at  Stratf  ord-on- 
Avon,  there  were  in  London  a  large  society  of  fellow-authors 
and  fellow-actors  with  whom  he  lived  in  close  communion. 
In  London,  where  Shakespeare's  work  was  mainly  done,  and 
his  fortune  and  reputation  achieved,  he  lived  with  none  in 
more  intimate  social  relations  than  with  the  leading  members 
of  his  own  prosperous  company  of  actors,  which,  under  the 
patronage  of  the  king,  produced  his  greatest  plays.  It  is  to 
be  borne  in  mind  that  to  the  disinterested  admiration  for  his 
genius  of  two  fellow-members  of  Shakespeare's  company 
we  chiefly  owe  the  preservation  and  publication  of  the  greater 
part  of  his  literary  work  in  the  First  Folio,  that  volume 
which  first  offered  the  world  a  full  record  of  his  achievement, 
and  is  the  greatest  of  England's  literary  treasures.  Those 
actor-editors  of  his  dramas,  Heming  and  Condell,  acknowl- 
edged plainly  and  sincerely  the  personal  fascination  that  *  so 
worthy  a  friend  and  fellow  as  was  our  Shakespeare'  had 
exerted  on  them.     All  his  fellow-workers  cherished  an  affec- 


282  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

tionate  pride  in  the  intimacy.  It  was  they  who  were  the 
parents  of  the  greater  part  of  the  surviving  oral  tradition 
concerning  Shakespeare — a  tradition  which  combines  with 
the  extant  documentary  evidence  to  make  Shakespeare's 
biography  as  unassailable  as  any  narrative  known  to  history. 

Some  links  in  the  chain  of  Shakespeare's  career  are  stiU 
missing,  and  we  must  wait  for  the  future  to  disclose  them. 
Thecer-  -^^^  though  the  clues  at  present  are  in  some  places 

ou?  ^  ^  faint,  the  trail  never  altogether  eludes  the  patient 

knowledge,  investigator.  The  ascertained  facts  are  already 
numerous  enough  to  define  beyond  risk  of  intelligent  doubt 
the  direction  that  Shakespeare's  career  followed.  Its  general 
outline  is  fully  established  by  a  continuous  and  unimpeachable 
chain  of  oral  tradition,  which  survives  from  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  by  documentary  evidence — far  more  documen- 
tary evidence — than  exists  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare's  great 
literary  contemporaries.  How  many  distinguished  Eliza- 
bethan and  Jacobean  authors  have  shared  the  fate  of  John 
Webster,  next  to  Shakespeare  the  most  eminent  tragic 
dramatist  of  the  era^  of  whom  no  positive  biographic  fact 
survives  ? 

It  may  be  justifiable  to  cherish  regret  for  the  loss  of 
Shakespeare's  autograph  papers,  and  of  his  familiar  corre- 
The  absence  spondence.  Only  five  signatures  of  Shakespeare 
manu-  survive,  and  no  other  fragments  of  his  handwriting 

scripts.  have  been  discovered.     Other  reputed  autographs 

of  Shakespeare  have  been  found  in  books  of  his  time,  but 
none  has  quite  established  its  authenticity.  Yet  the  absence 
of  autograph  material  can  excite  scepticism  of  the  received 
tradition  only  in  those  who  are  ignorant  of  Elizabethan  liter- 
ary history — who  are  ignorant  of  the  fate  that  invariably 
befell  the  original  manuscripts  and  correspondence  of  Eliza- 
bethan and  Jacobean  poets  and  dramatists.     Save  for  a  few 


SHAKESPEARE'S    CAREER  283 

fragments  of  small  literary  moment,  no  play  of  the  era  in  its 
writer's  autograph  escaped  early  destruction  by  fire  or  dust- 
bin. No  machinery  then  ensured,  no  custom  then  encouraged, 
the  due  preservation  of  the  autographs  of  men  distinguished 
for  poetic  genius.  The  amateur's  passion  for  autograph  col- 
lecting is  of  far  later  date.  Provision  was  made  in  the  pub- 
lic record  offices,  or  in  private  muniment-rooms  of  great 
country  mansions,  for  the  protection  of  the  official  papers  and 
correspondence  of  men  in  public  life,  and  of  manuscript 
memorials  affecting  the  property  and  domestic  history  of 
great  county  families.  But  even  in  the  case  of  men,  in  the 
sixteenth  or  seventeenth  centuries,  in  official  life  who,  as  often 
happened,  devoted  their  leisure  to  literature,  autographs  of 
their  literary  compositions  have  for  the  most  part  perished, 
and  there  usually  only  remain  in  the  official  depositories 
remnants  of  their  writing  about  matters  of  official  routine. 
Some  documents  signed  by  Edmund  Spenser,  while  he  was 
Secretary  to  the  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland,  or  holding  official 
positions  in  the  Government  of  Ireland,  survive,  but  where  is 
the  manuscript  of  Spenser's  poems — of  his  Shepheards  Cal- 
ender, or  his  great  epic  of  the  Faerie  Queene?  Official  papers 
signed  by  Sir  Walter  Ralegh,  who  filled  a  large  place  in 
English  public  life  of  the  period,  survive,  but  where  is  any 
fragment  of  the  manuscript  of  his  voluminous  History  of  the 
World? 

Not  all  the  depositories  of  official  and  family  papers  in 
England,  it  is  to  be  admitted,  have  yet  been  fully  explored, 
and  in  some  of  them  a  more  thorough  search  than  has  yet 
been  undertaken  may  possibly  throw  new  light  on  Shake- 
speare's biography  or  work.  Meanwhile,  instead  of  mourn- 
ing helplessly  over  the  lack  of  material  for  a  knowledge  of 
Shakespeare's  life,  it  becomes  us  to  estimate  aright  what  we 
have  at  our  command,  to  study  it  closely  in  the  light  of  the 


284  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

literary  history  of  the  epoch,  and,  while  neglecting  no  op- 
portunity of  bettering  our  information,  to  recognise  frankly 
the  activity  of  the  destroying  agencies  that  have  been  at 
work  from  the  outset.  Then  we  shall  wonder,  not  why  we 
know  so  little,  but  why  we  know  so  much. 


VIII 

FOREIGN   INFLUENCES   ON   SHAKESPEARE 

* .     .     .     All  the  learnings  that  his  time 
Could  make  him  the  receiver  of,     .     .     .     he  took. 
As  we  do  air,  fast  as  'twas  minister'd, 
And  in  's  spring  became  a  harvest.' 

Cymheline,  i.,  i.,  43-46. 

'His  learning  savours  not  the  school-like  gloss 
That  most  consists  in  echoing  words  and  terms     .     .     • 
Nor  any  long  or  far-fetched  circumstance — 
Wrapt  in  the  curious  generalties  of  arts — 
But  a  direct  and  analytic  sum 
Of  all  the  worth  and  first  effects  of  art. 
And  for  his  poesy,  'tis  so  rammed  with  life 
That  it  shall  gather  strength  of  life  with  being, 
And  live  hereafter  more  admired  than  now.' 

Ben  Jonson,  Poetaster,  Act  v.,  So.  i. 

[Bibliography. — Study  of  foreign  influences  on  Shakespeare's 
work  has  not  been  treated  exhaustively.  M.  Paul  Stapfer's 
Shakspeare  and  Classical  Antiquity,  1880,  covers  satisfactorily 
a  portion  of  the  ground,  and  much  that  is  useful  may  be  found 
in  Shakespeare's  Library,  edited  by  J.  P.  Collier  and  W.  C. 
Hazlitt,  1875,  and  Shakespeare's  Plutarch,  edited  by  Prof.  Skeat, 
1875.  Mr.  Churton  Collins'  Shakespearean  Studies,  1904,  and 
Mr.  J.  M.  Robertson's  Montaigne  and  Shakespeare,  1897,  throw 
light  on  portions  of  the  topic,  although  all  the  conclusions 
reached  cannot  be  fully  accepted.  Of  the  indebtedness  of 
EUzabethan  writers  to  Italian  and  French  poets,  much  has 
been  collected  by  the  present  writer  in  his  introduction  to 
Elizabethan  Sonnets,  'An  English  Garner'  (2  vols.,  1904).] 


Art  and  letters  of  the  supreme  kind,  we  are  warned  by 
Goethe,  know  nothing  of  the  petty  restrictions  of  nationality. 
Shakespeare,  the  greatest  poet  of  the  world,  is  claimed  to  be 

285 


286  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

the  property  of  the  world.  Some  German  writers  have  car- 
Shake-  ^^^^   ^^^^   argument    further.      They   have   treated 

speare's  Shakespeare  as   one  of   themselves,   and  the  only 

universal  ^  ^  j 

repute.  complaint  that  Germans  have  been  known  of  late 

years  to  make  of  Shakespeare  is  that  he  had  the  inferior 
taste  to  be  born  an  Englishman. 

The  interval  between   English   and   French  literary  senti- 
ment is   far  wider   than  that  between   English   and  German 

literary   sentiment.      It  is  therefore  significant  to 
In  France.  i      oi     i 

note  that  France,  too,  regards  Shakespeare  as  an 

embodiment  of  that  highest  kind  of  power  of  the  human  intel- 
lect which  gives  a  claim  of  kinship  with  him  to  every  think- 
ing man,  no  matter  what  his  race  or  country.  Victor  Hugo 
recognised  only  three  men  as  really  memorable  in  the  world's 
history;  Moses  and  Homer  were  two  of  them,  Shakespeare 
was  the  third.  The  elder  Dumas,  the  prince  of  romancers, 
gave  even  more  pointed  expression  to  his  faith  in  Shake- 
speare's pre-eminence  in  the  Pantheon,  not  of  any  single 
nation  or  era,  but  of  the  everlasting  universe.  Dumas  set 
the  English  dramatist  next  to  God  in  the  cosmic  system: 
*  After  God  Shakespeare  has  created  most.' 

In  presence  of  so  exalted  an  estimate  there  is  something 
bathetic,  something  hardly  magnanimous,  in  insisting  on  the 

comparatively  minor  matter  of  fact  that  Shake- 
Shake-  ^  .^  ,  ,  ,  /<  1  -n 
speare's  spcare  was  an  Englishman,  a  kinsman  of  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking peoples,  born  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury in  the  heart  of  England,  and  enjoying  experiences  which 
were  common  to  all  contemporary  Englishmen  of  the  same 
station  in  life.  Yet  Shakespeare's  identity  with  England — 
with  the  English-speaking  race — is  a  circumstance  that 
accurate  scholarship  compels  us  to  keep  well  before  our 
minds.  It  is  a  circumstance  which  Shakespeare  himself 
presses   on   our   notice  in  his   works.      Shakespeare  was   not 


FOREIGN   INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     287 

superior  to  the  ordinary^  natural,  healthy,  instinct  of 
patriotism.  English  history  he  studied  in  a  patriotic  light, 
even  if  it  be  admitted  that  his  patriotism  was  a  well-regulated 
sentiment  which  sought  the  truth.  In  his  English  History 
plays  he  made  contributions  to  a  national  epic.  His  His- 
tories are  detached  books  of  an  English  Iliad.  They  are  no 
blind  heroic  glorifications  of  the  nation;  Shakespeare's  kings 
are  more  remarkable  for  their  failings  than  their  virtues. 
But  Shakespeare  pays  repeated  homage  to  his  own  country, 
to  the  proud  independence  which  its  geographical  position 
emphasised,  to  the  duty  laid  by  nature  on  its  inhabitants  of 
mastering  the  seas  that  encompass  it: 

*  England  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea. 
Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 
Of  wat'ry  Neptune.' 

The  significance  of  the  sea  for  Englishmen  was  recognised 
by  Shakespeare  as  fully  as  by  any  English  writer.  His  lines 
glow  with  exceptional  thrill  when  he  writes  of 

'The  natural  bravery  of  the  isle,  which  stands 
As  Neptune's  park,  ribbed  and  belted  in 
With  rocks  unscaleable,  and  roaring  waters.* 

None  but  an  Englishman  could  have  apostrophised  England 

as — 

*This  precious  stone,  set  in  a  silver  sea. 
This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this  England.' 

Shakespeare's  great  contemporary.  Bacon,  bequeathed  by 
will  his  name  and  memory  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and 
to  foreign  nations,  and  the  next  ages.  Shake-  Hisnext- 
speare  made  no  testamentary  dispositions  of  his  of-km. 
name  and  memory,  and  by  default  his  name  and  memory 
become  the  heritage  of  the  English-speaking  peoples,  his 
next-of-kin. 


288  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


11 

But  the  depth  of  Shakespeare's  interest  in  his  country  and 

her    fortunes,    his    instinctive    identification    of    himself    with 

England  and  Englishmen,  is  a  fact  of  secondary 
Foreign 
influence         importance  in  any  fruitful  diagnosis  of  his  genius 

bethan  or  work.      Neither   Elizabethan  literature  nor  his 

spacious  contribution  to  it  came  to  birth  in  insular 

isolation;  they  form  part  of  the  European  literature  of  the 

Renaissance. 

Full  of  suggestiveness  are  the  facts  that  Shakespeare  was 
born  in  the  year  of  Michael  Angelo's  death  and  of  Galileo's 
birth,  and  that  he  died  in  the  same  year  as  Cervantes.  He 
was  sharer  of  the  enlightenment  of  the  great  era  which  saw 
the  new  birth  of  the  human  intellect. 

No  student  will  dispute  the  proposition  that  Elizabethan 
England  was  steeped  in  foreign  influences.  Elizabethan 
literature  abounded  in  translations  from  Greek,  Latin,  Italian, 
French,  and  Spanish,  in  adaptations  of  every  manner  of 
foreign  literary  effort.  The  spirit  and  substance  of  foreign 
literature  were  among  the  elements  of  which  Elizabethan 
literature  was  compounded.  Literary  forms  which  were  im- 
ported from  abroad,  like  the  sonnet  and  blank  verse,  became 
indigenous  to  Elizabethan  England.  The  Elizabethan  drama, 
the  greatest  literary  product  of  the  Elizabethan  epoch,  was 
built  largely  upon  classical  foundations,  and  its  plots  were 
framed  on  stories  invented  by  the  novelists  of  the  Italian 
Renaissance.  Shakespeare  described  an  Elizabethan  gallant 
or  man  of  fashion  as  buying  *  his  doublet  in  Italy,  his  round 
hose  in  France,  his  bonnet  in  Germany,  and  his  behaviour 
everywhere.'  The  remark  might  easily  be  applied  figuratively 
to    the    habiliments — to    the    characteristics — of    Elizabethan 


FOREIGN   INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     289 

literature.     The  dress  and  fashion  of  Elizabethan  literature 
were  more  often  than  not  Continental  importations. 

The  freedom  with  which  the  Elizabethans  adapted  con- 
temporary poetry  of  France  and  Italy  at  times  seems  in- 
consistent with  the  dictates  of  literary  honesty.  Elizabethan 
Many  a  poem,  which  was  issued  in  Elizabethan  Plagiarism. 
England  as  an  original  composition,  proves  on  investigation 
to  be  an  ingenious  translation  from  another  tongue.  The 
practice  of  unacknowledged  borrowing  went  far  beyond  the 
limits  which  a  high  standard  of  literary  morality  justifies. 
Such  action  was  tolerated  to  an  extent  to  which  no  other 
great  literary  epoch  seems  to  offer  a  parallel.  The  greatest 
of  the  Elizabethans  did  not  disdain  on  occasion  to  transfer 
secretly  to  their  pages  phrases  and  ideas  drawn  directly  from 
foreign  books.  But  it  is  unhistorical  to  exaggerate  the  sig- 
nificance of  these  foreign  loans,  whether  secret  or  acknowl- 
edged. The  national  spirit  was  strong  enough  in  Elizabethan 
England  to  maintain  the  individuality  of  its  literature  in  the 
broad  current.  Despite  the  eager  welcome  which  was  ex- 
tended to  foreign  literary  forms  and  topics,  despite  the  easy 
tolerance  of  plagiarism,  the  foreign  influences,  so  far  from 
suppressing  native  characteristics,  ultimately  invigorated, 
fertilised,  and  chastened  them. 


Ill 

Shakespeare's  power  of  imagination  was  as  fertile  as  that 
of  any  man  known  to  history,  but  he  had  another  power  which 
is  rarely  absent  from  great  poets,  the  power  of  ghake- 
absorbing  or  assimilating  the  fruits  of  reading.  ^ssSila- 
Spenser,  Milton,  Burns,  Keats,  and  Tennyson  had  t^^^  P^^^^- 
the  like  power,  but  probably  none  had  it  in  quite  the  same 
degree  as  Shakespeare.     In  his  case,  as  in  the  case  of  the 

T 


290  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

other  poets_,  this  power  of  assimilation  strengthened,  rendered 
more  robust,,  the  productive  power  of  his  imagination.  This 
assimilating  power  is  as  well  worth  minute  study  and  careful 
definition  as  any  other  of  Shakespeare's  characteristics. 

The  investigation  requires  in  the  investigator  a  wide  lit- 
erary knowledge  and  a  finely  balanced  judgment.  Short- 
sighted critics,  misapprehending  the  significance  of  his  career, 
have  sometimes  credited  Shakespeare  with  exceptional  igno- 
rance, even  illiteracy.  They  have  oracularly  declared  him  to 
be  a  natural  genius,  owing  nothing  to  the  learning  and 
literature  that  came  before  him,  or  were  contemporary  with 
him.  That  view  is  contradicted  point-blank  by  the  external 
facts  of  his  education,  and  the  internal  facts  of  his  work. 
A  more  modern  type  of  critic  has  gone  to  the  opposite  ex- 
treme, and  has  credited  Shakespeare  with  all  the  learning  of 
an  ideal  professor  of  literature.  This  notion  is  as  illusory 
as  the  other,  and  probably  it  has  worked  more  mischief. 
This  notion  has  led  to  the  foolish  belief  that  the  facts  of 
Shakespeare's  career  are  inconsistent  with  the  facts  of  his 
achievement.  It  is  a  point  of  view  that  has  been  accepted 
without  serious  testing  by  those  half-informed  persons  who 
argue  that  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  must  have  come  from 
the  pen  of  one  far  more  highly  educated  than  we  know  Shake- 
speare to  have  been. 

The  two  views  of  Shakespeare's  equipment  of  learning 
were  put  very  epigrammatically  by  critics  writing  a  century 
and  a  half  ago.  One  then  said  *  the  man  who  doubts  the 
learning  of  Shakespeare  has  none  of  his  own ' ;  the  other 
critic  asserted  that  '  he  who  allows  Shakespeare  had  learning 
ought  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  detractor  from  the  glory  of 
Great  Britain.' 

Each  of  these  apophthegms  contains  a  sparse  grain  of 
truth.     The  whole  truth  lies  between  the  two.     Shakespeare 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     291 

was  obviously  no  scholar^  but  he  was  widely  read  in  the 
literature  that  was  at  the  disposal  of  cultivated  men  of  his 
day.  All  that  he  read  passed  quickly  into  his  mind^  but  did 
not  long  retain  there  the  precise  original  form.  It  was  at 
once  assimilated,  digested,  transmuted  by  his  always  dominant 
imagination,  and,  when  it  came  forth  again  in  a  recognisable 
shape,  it  bore,  except  in  the  rarest  instances,  the  stamp  of  his 
great  individuality,  rather  than  the  stamp  of  its  source. 

Shakespeare's  mind  may  best  be  likened  to  a  highly  sen- 
sitised photographic  plate,  which  need  only  be  exposed  for 
the  hundredth  part  of  a  second  to  anything  in  life  Theinstan- 
or  literature,  in  order  to  receive  upon  its  surface  lo^g^of 
the  firm  outline  of  a  picture  which  could  be  de-  perception. 
veloped  and  reproduced  at  will.  If  Shakespeare's  mind  for 
the  hundredth  part  of  a  second  came  in  contact  in  an  alehouse 
with  a  burly  good-humoured  toper,  the  conception  of  a 
Falstaff  found  instantaneous  admission  to  his  brain.  The 
character  had  revealed  itself  to  him  in  most  of  its  involutions, 
as  quickly  as  his  eye  caught  sight  of  its  external  form,  and 
his  ear  caught  the  sound  of  the  voice.  Books  offered  Shake- 
speare the  same  opportunity  of  realising  human  life  and 
experience.  A  hurried  perusal  of  an  Italian  story  of  a  Jew 
in  Venice  conveyed  to  him  the  mental  picture  of  Shylock, 
with  all  his  racial  temperament  in  energetic  action,  and  all 
the  background  of  Venetian  scenery  and  society  accurately 
defined.  A  few  hours  spent  over  Plutarch's  Lives  brought 
into  being  in  Shakespeare's  brain  the  true  aspects  of  Roman 
character  and  Roman  aspiration.  Whencesoever  the  external 
impressions  came,  whether  from  the  world  of  books  or  the 
world  of  living  men,  the  same  mental  process  was  at  work, 
the  same  visualising  instinct  which  made  the  thing,  which  he 
saw  or  read  of,  a  living  and  a  lasting  reality. 


292  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


IV 

In  any  estimate  of  the  extent  of  foreign  influence  on  Shake- 
speare's work^  it  is  well  at  the  outset  to  realise  the  opportuni- 
ties of  acquaintance  with  foreign  literatures  that  were  opened 
to  him  in  early  life.  A  great  man's  education  or  mental 
training  is  not  a  process  that  stops  with  his  school  or  his 
college  days ;  it  is  in  progress  throughout  his  life.  But  youth- 
ful education  usually  suggests  the  lines  along  which  future 
intellectual  development  may  proceed. 

At  the  grammar  school  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  where  Shake- 
speare may  be  reasonably  presumed  to  have  spent  seven  years 

of  boyhood,  a  sound  training  in  the  elements  of 
Early  in-  " 

stniction  classical  learning  was  at  the  disposal  of  all  comers, 
in  Latin.  , 

The   general   instruction   was    mainly   confined   to 

the  Latin  language  and  literature.  From  the  Latin  accidence, 
boys  of  the  period,  at  schools  of  the  type  of  that  at  Strat- 
ford, were  led,  through  Latan  conversation  books, — books  of 
Latin  phrases  to  be  used  in  conversation,  like  the  Sententiae 
Pueriles  and  Lily's  Grammar, — to  the  perusal  of  such  authors 
as  Seneca,  Terence,  Cicero,  Virgil,  Plautus,  Ovid,  and 
Horace.  Nor  was  modern  Latin  literature  altogether  over- 
looked. The  Latin  eclogues  of  a  popular  Renaissance  poet 
of  Italy,  Baptista  Mantuanus — '  the  good  old  Mantuan  * 
Shakespeare  familiarly  calls  him — were  often  preferred  to 
Virgil's  for  youthful  students.  Latin  was  the  warp  and 
woof  of  every  Elizabethan  grammar  school  curriculum. 

The  rudiments  of  Greek  were  occasionally  taught  in  Eliza- 
bethan grammar  schools  to  very  promising  pupils;  but  it 
is  doubtful  if  Greek  were  accessible  to  Stratford  schoolboys. 
It  is  imlikely  that  Shakespeare  knew  anything  of  Greek  at 
first  hand.     Curious  verbal  coincidences  have  been  detected 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     293 

between  sentences   in  the  great  Greek  plays  and  in  Shake- 
spearian drama.     Striking  these  often  are.     In  the  Electra  of 
Sophocles,,  which  is  akin  in  its  leading  motive  to  Apparent 
Hamlet,  the  chorus  consoles  Electra  for  the  sup-  of^Greek^ 
posed  death  of  Orestes  with  the  same  expressions  l^J^g^age. 
of  sympathy  as  those  with  which  Hamlet's  mother  and  uncle 
seek  to  console  him  on  the  loss  of  his  father: — 

'Remember  Electra,  your  father  whence  you  sprang  is  mortal,  wherefore 
grieve  not  much,  for  by  all  of  us  has  this  debt  of  suffering  to  be  paid.* 

In  Hamlet  are  the  familiar  sentences — 

'Thou  know'st  'tis  conunon;  all  that  live  must  die; 
But,  you  must  know,  your  father  lost  a  father; 
That  father  lost,  lost  his    .     .     .    but  to  persever 
In  obstinate  eondolement  is  a  course 
Of  impious  stubbornness.' 

Shakespeare's  '  prophetic  soul/  which  is  found  both  in 
Hamlet  and  in  the  Sonnets,  is  matched  by  the  Trpofiavm 
OviMS  of  Euripides's  Andromache  (1075).  Hamlet's  'sea 
of  troubles  '  exactly  translates  the  KaKwv  7reA.ayos  of  ^schylus's 

Persae  (442).     Such  parallels  could  be  easily  ex- 

Accidental 
tended.      But   none   compels    us   to    admit   textual    coinci- 

dcncGs 
knowledge   of   ^schylus   or   Sophocles   or   Eurip- 
ides   on    Shakespeare's    part.      They    barely    do    more    than 
suggest   the    commimity    of    sentiment    that   binds    all    great 
thinkers  together. 

Something  of  the  Greek  spirit  lived  in  Latin,  French, 
Italian,  and  English  translations  and  adaptations  of  the 
masterpieces  of  Greek  literature.  Shakespeare  gained  some 
conception  of  the  main  features  of  Greek  literature  through 
those  conduits.  At  least  one  epigram  of  the  Greek  anthology 
he  turned  through  a  Latin  version  into  a  sonnet.  But  there 
was  no  likelihood  that  he  sought  at  first  hand  in  Greek  poetry 
for  gnomic  reflections  on  the  commonest  vicissitudes  of  human 


294  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

life.  Poets  who  write  quite  independently  of  one  another 
often  clothe  such  reflections  in  almost  identical  phrase.  When 
we  find  a  universal  sentiment  common  to  Shakespeare  and  a 
foreign  author^  it  is  illogical  to  infer  that  the  sentiment  has 
come  to  Shakespeare  from  that  foreign  author,  unless  we 
can  establish  two  most  important  propositions.  First,  external 
fact  must  render  such  a  transference  probable  or  possible. 
There  must  be  reasonable  ground  for  the  belief  that  the 
alleged  borrower  had  direct  access  to  the  work  from  which  he 
is  supposed  to  borrow.  Secondly,  either  the  verbal  similarity 
or  the  peculiar  distinctiveness  of  the  sentiment  must  be  such 
as  to  render  it  easier  to  believe  that  the  utterance  has  been 
directly  borrowed  than  that  it  has  arisen  independently  in  two 
separate  minds. 

In  the  case  of  the  Greek  parallels  of  phrase  it  is 
easier  to  believe  that  the  expressions  reached  Shakespeare  in- 
dependently— by  virtue  of  the  independent  working  of  the  in- 
tuitive faculty — than  that  he  directly  borrowed  them  of  their 
Greek  prototypes.  Most  of  the  parallelisms  of  thought  and 
phrase  between  Shakespearian  and  the  Attic  drama  are  prob- 
ably fortuitous,  are  accidental  proofs  of  consanguinity  of 
spirit  rather  than  evidences  of  Shakespeare's  study  of  Greek. 

But  although  the  Greek  language  is  to  be  placed  outside 
Shakespeare's  scope  at  school  and  in  later  life,  we  may 
Knowledge  Safely  defy  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Farmer,  the  Cam- 
and^^^^  bridge    scholar    of    the    eighteenth    century,    who 

Italian.  enunciated  in  his  famous  Essay  on  Shakespeare's 

Learning  the  theory  that  Shakespeare  knew  no  tongue  but  his 
own,  and  owed  whatever  knowledge  he  displayed  of  the 
classics  and  of  Italian  and  French  literature  to  English  trans- 
lations. English  translations  of  foreign  literature  undoubt- 
edly abounded  in  Elizabethan  literature.  But  Shakespeare 
was  not  wholly  dependent  on  them.     Several  of  the  books  in 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     295 

French  or  Italian,  whence  Shakespeare  derived  the  plots  of 
his  dramas,  were  not  in  Elizabethan  days  rendered  into 
English.  Belleforest's  Histoires  Tragiques  is  the  source  of 
Hamlet's  history.  In  Ser  Giovanni's  Italian  collection  of 
stories,  called  II  Pecorone,  alone  may  be  fomid  the  full  story 
of  the  Merchant  of  Venice.  Cinthio's  Hecatommithi  alone 
supplies  the  tale  of  Othello.  None  of  these  foreign  books 
were  accessible  in  English  translations  when  Shakespeare 
wrote.  On  more  general  grounds  the  theory  of  his  ignorance 
is  adequately  confuted.  A  boy  with  Shakespeare's  exceptional 
alertness  of  intellect,  during  whose  school  days  a  training  in 
Latin  classics  lay  within  reach,  would  scarcely  lack  in  future 
years  the  means  of  access  to  the  literatures  of  France  and 
Italy  which  were  written  in  cognate  languages. 

With  Latin  and  French  and  with  the  Latin  poets  of  the 
school  curriculum,  Shakespeare  in  his  early  writings  openly 
and  unmistakably  acknowledged  his  acquaintance. 
In  Henri/  V.  the  dialogue  in  many  scenes  is  carried  French 
on  in  French  which  is  grammatically  accurate  if  ^^°  ^  ^°°^' 
not  idiomatic.  In  the  mouth  of  his  schoolmasters,  Holof  ernes 
in  Love's  Labour's  Lost  and  Sir  Hugh  Evans  in  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,  Shakespeare  placed  Latin  phrases  drawn 
directly  from  Lily's  popular  school  grammar,  and  from  the 
Sententiae  Pueriles,  the  conversation  book  used  by  boys  at 
school.  The  influence  of  a  popular  school  author,  the  volumi- 
nous Latin  poet  Ovid,  was  especially  apparent  throughout 
his  earliest  literary  work,  both  poetic  and  dramatic.  Ovid's 
Metamorphoses  was  peculiarly  familiar  to  him.  Hints  drawn 
directly  from  it  are  discernible  in  all  his  early  poems  and 
plays  as  well  as  in  The  Tempest,  his  latest  play  (v.  i.  33 
seq.).  Ovid's  Latin,  which  was  accessible  to  Shakespeare 
since  his  school  days,  never  faded  altogether  from  his 
memory. 


296  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

We  have^  however,  to  emphasise  at  every  turn  the  obvious 

fact  that  Shakespeare  was  no  finished  scholar  and  that   he 

was  no  scholarly  expert  in  any  language  but  his 
Lack  of 
scholar-  own.      He   makes,  in   classical  subjects,  precisely 

those  mistakes  which  are  impossible  in  a  finished 
scholar.  Homer's  *Y7rc/3tW,  a  name  of  the  sun,  which 
Ovid  exactly  reproduces  as  Hyperion,  figures  in  Shake- 
speare's pages  as  Hyperion — '  Hyperion  to  a  satyr  ' — with 
every  one  of  the  four  syllables  wrongly  measured.  The  whole- 
sale error  in  quantity  would  be  impossible  in  a  classical 
scholar,  and  Keats's  submissive  repetition  of  it  is  clear  evi- 
dence that,  despite  his  intuitive  grasp  of  the  classical  spirit, 
he  had  no  linguistic  knowledge  of  Greek.  Again,  Shake- 
speare's closest  adaptations  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  despite 
his  personal  knowledge  of  Latin,  reflect  the  tautological 
phraseology  of  the  popular  English  version  by  Arthur  Gold- 
ing,  of  which  some  seven  editions  were  issued  in  Shakespeare's 
lifetime.  From  Plautus  Shakespeare  drew  the  plot  of  The 
Comedy  of  Errors,  but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  Shake- 
speare consulted  an  English  version  as  well  as  the  original 
text.  Like  many  later  students  of  Latin,  he  did  not  disdain 
the  use  of  translations  when  they  were  ready  to  his  hand. 
Shakespeare's  lack  of  exact  scholarship  explains  the  '  small 
Latin  and  less  Greek '  with  which  he  was  credited  by  his 
scholarly  friend  Ben  Jonson.  But  the  report  of  his  early 
biographer,  Aubrey,  '  that  Shakespeare  understood  Latin 
pretty  well/  need  not  be  contested.  His  knowledge  of  French 
in  early  life  may  be  estimated  to  have  equalled  his  knowledge 
of  Latin,  while  he  probably  had  quite  sufficient  acquaintance 
with  Italian  to  enable  him  to  discern  the  drift  of  any  Italian 
poem  or  novel  that  reached  his  hand. 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     297 


There  is  no  evidence  that  Shakespeare  was  a  widely  trav- 
elled man.  It  is  improbable  that  he  completed  his  early 
education  in  a  foreign  tour^  and  that  he  came  shake- 
under  foreign  literary  influences  at  their  foun-  traveUe^^ 
tain-heads,  in  the  places  of  their  origin.  Young  ^°^°^  • 
Elizabethans  of  rank  commonly  made  a  foreign  tour  before 
completing  their  education,  but  Shakespeare  was  not  a  young 
man  of  rank.  It  was  indeed  no  uncommon  experience  for  men 
of  the  humbler  classes  to  work  off  some  of  the  exuberance 
of  youth  by  *  trailing  a  pike  '  in  foreign  lands,  serving  as 
volunteers  with  foreign  armies.  From  the  neighbourhood 
of  Stratford  itself  when  Shakespeare  was  just  of  age  many 
youths  of  his  own  years  crossed  to  the  Low  Countries.  They 
went  to  Holland  to  fight  the  Spaniards  under  the  command  of 
the  great  Lord  of  Warwickshire,  the  owner  of  Kenilworth, 
the  Queen's  favourite,  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  A  book  was 
once  written  to  show  that  one  of  these  adventurous  volunteers, 
who  bore  the  name  of  Will  Shakespeare,  was  Shakespeare 
himself,  but  the  identification  is  a  mistake.  William  Shake- 
speare, the  Earl  of  Leicester's  soldier,  came  from  a  village 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Stratford  where  the  name  was  com- 
mon.    He  was  not  the  dramatist. 

Some  have  argued  that  in  his  professional  capacity  of  actor 
Shakespeare  went  abroad.  English  actors  in  Shakespeare's 
day  occasionally  combined  to  make  professional  tours  through 
foreign  lands  where  court  society  invariably  gave  them  a 
hospitable  reception.  In  Denmark,  Germany,  Austria,  Hol- 
land, and  France,  many  dramatic  performances  were  given 
before  royal  audiences  by  English  actors  throughout  Shake- 
speare's active  career.  But  it  is  improbable  that  Shakespeare 
joined  any  of  these  expeditions.     Actors  of  small  account  at 


298  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

home   mainly   took   part   in   them,   and    Shakespeare   quickly 
filled  a  leading  place  in  the  theatrical  profession.     Lists  of 
those    Englishmen   who   paid   professional   visits    abroad   are 
extant,  and  Shakespeare's  name  occurs  in  none  of  them. 
It  seems   unlikely   that   Shakespeare  ever  set  foot  on  the 

Continent  of   Europe  in  either  a  private  or  pro- 
Views  of  X  jr 
foreign           fessional  capacity.     He  doubtless  would  have  set 
travel. 

foot  there  if  he  could  have  done  so,  but  the  oppor- 
tunity did  not  offer.    He  knew  the  dangers  of  insular  prej  udice : 


Hath  Britain  all  the  sun  that  shines  ?    Day,  night, 
Are  they  not  but  in  Britain  ?     .     .    .    prithee,  think 
There's  Hvers  out  of  Britain.' 

He  acknowledged  the  educational  value  of  foreign  travel  when 
rightly  indulged  in.  He  points  out  in  one  of  his  earliest  plays 
how  wise  fathers 

'Put  forth  their  sons,  to  seek  preferment  out 
Some  to  the  wars  to  try  their  fortune  there; 
Some  to  discover  islands  far  away; 
Some  to  the  studious  universities  [on  the  Continent]'; 

how  the  man  who  spent  all  his  time  at  home  was  at  a  dis- 
advantage 

*In  having  known  no  travaile  in  his  youth.* 

*  A  perfect  man '  was  one  who  was  'tried  and  tutored  in  the 
world  *  outside  his  native  country. 

*  Home-keeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits.* 

Some  touch  of  a  counsel  of  perfection  may  be  latent  in 
these  passages.  Elsewhere  Shakespeare  betrayed  the  stay-at- 
home's  impatience  of  immoderate  enthusiasm  for  foreign 
sights  and  customs.  He  denounced  with  severity  the  uncon- 
trolled passion  for  travel.     He  scorned  the  travelled  English- 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     299 

man's  affectations,  his  laudation  of  foreign  manners,,  his  ex- 
aggerated admiration  of  foreign  products  as  compared  with 
home  products: — 

'Farewell,  monsieur  traveller,'  says  Rosalind  to  the  melancholy  Jaques. 
•Look  you  Usp  and  wear  strange  suits  and  disable  all  the  benefits  of  your 
own  country,  and  be  out  of  love  \vith  your  nativity,  and  almost  chide  God 
for  making  you  that  countenance  you  are,  or  I  will  scarce  think  you  have 
swam  in  a  gondola/ 

But  many  who   reject  theories   of   Shakespeare's   visits   to 
Florence   or   Germany   or   Flanders   are   unwilling  to   forego 

the  conjecture  that  Shakespeare  had  been  in  Italy. 

Imagina- 
To  Italy — especially  to  cities  of  Northern  Italy,    tive  affinity 

with  Italy. 
like  Venice,  Padua,  Verona,  Mantua,  and  Milan — 

Shakespeare  makes  frequent  and  familiar  reference,  and 
he  supplies  many  a  realistic  portrayal  of  Italian  life  and 
sentiment.  But  the  fact  that  he  represents  Valentine  in  The 
Two  Gentlemen  (i.  i.  71)  as  travelling  from  Verona  to  Milan 
(both  inland  cities)  by  sea,  and  the  fact  that  Prospero  in 
The  Tempest  embarks  in  a  ship  at  the  gates  of  Milan  (i.  ii. 
129-4'4<)  renders  it  almost  impossible  that  he  could  have 
gathered  his  knowledge  of  Northern  Italy  from  personal 
observation.  Shakespeare  doubtless  owed  all  his  knowledge 
of  Italy  to  the  verbal  reports  of  travelled  friends  and  to 
Italian  books,  the  contents  of  which  he  had  a  rare  power  of 
assimilating  and  vitalising.  The  glowing  light  which  his 
quick  imagination  shed  on  Italian  scenes  lacked  the  literal 
precision  and  detailed  accuracy  with  which  first-hand  explora- 
tion must  have  endowed  it. 


▼I 

The  only  safe  source  of  information  about  Shakespeare's 
actual  knowledge  in  his  adult  years  either  of  the  world  of 


300  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

literature  or  of  the  world  of  men  is  his  extant  written  work. 
It  is  a  more  satisfying  source  than  any  conjectures  of  his 
personal  experiences.  What  are  the  general  tracts  of  foreign 
Internal  knowledge,  what   are  the   spheres   of   foreign   in- 

orforef^  fluence  with  which  Shakespeare's  work — his  plays 
influence.  ^jjj  poems — prove  him  to  have  been  familiar?  It 
is  quite  permissible  to  reply  to  such  questions  without  further 
detailed  consideration  of  the  precise  avenues  through  which 
those  tracts  of  knowledge  were  in  Shakespeare's  day  ap- 
proachable. With  how  many  of  the  topics  or  conceptions  of 
great  foreign  literature  does  the  internal  evidence  of  his 
work  show  him  to  have  been  acquainted? 

Firstly,  it  is  obvious  that  the  tales  and  personages  of  classi- 
cal mythology — the  subject-matter  of  classical  poetry — were 
References  among  his  household  words.  When  the  second 
Greek  servant   in    The    Taming   of  the   Shrew   asks   the 

mythology,  drunken  Kit  Sly:— 'Dost  thou  love  pictures?' 
Shakespeare  conjures  up  stories  of  classical  folk-lore  with 
such  fluent  ease  as  to  imply  complete  familiarity  with  most 
of  the  conventional  themes  of  classical  poetry.  *  Dost  thou 
love  pictures  ? '  says  the  servant.  He  answers  his  own 
question  thus: — 

'Then  we  will  fetch  thee  straight 
Adonis  painted  by  a  running  brook. 
And  Cytherea  all  in  sedges  hid, 

Lofd.       We'll  show  thee  lo  as  she  was  a  maid, 

^rd  Serv.     Or  Daphne  roaming  through  a  thorny  wood, 

Scratching  her  legs  that  one  shall  swear  she  bleeds. 
And  at  that  sight  shall  sad  Apollo  weep.* 

All  that  it  was  of  value  for  Shakespeare  to  know  of  Adonis, 
Cytherea,  lo,  Daphne,  Apollo,  flowed  in  the  current  of  his 


FOREIGN   INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     301 

thought.  Without  knowledge  of  Greek  he  assimilated  the 
pellucid  fancy  and  imagery  that  played  about  Greek  verse. 
The  Greek  language  was  unknown  to  him.  But  he  compre- 
hended the  artistic  significance  of  Greek  mythology,  of 
which  Greek  poetry  was  woven,  as  effectively  as  the  learned 
poets  of  the  Italian  and  French  Renaissance. 

So,  too,  with  the  general  trend  and  leading  episodes  of 
Greek    history.      Greek    tradition,    both    in    mythical    and    in 

historic  times,  was  as  open  a  book  to  him  as  Greek  , .    , 

^  Mythical 

poetic  mythology.     He  had  not  studied  Greek  his-    history  of 

tory  in  the  spirit  of  an  historical  scholar.  Troilus 
and  Cressida  indicates  no  critical  study  of  the  authorities  for 
the  Trojan  War,  but  the  play  leaves  no  doubt  of  Shakespeare's 
intuitive  grasp  of  the  leading  features  and  details  of  the 
whole  story  of  Troy  as  it  was  known  to  his  contemporaries. 
In  Athens — the  capital  city  of  Greece,  the  main  home  of 
Greek  culture — he  places  the  scene  of  more  than  one  of  his 
plays.  The  names  of  Greek  heroes  from  Agamemnon,  Ulysses, 
Nestor,  and  Theseus,  to  Alcibiades  and  Pericles,  figure  in  his 
dramatis  personam.  The  names  are  often  so  employed  as  to 
suggest  little  or  nothing  of  the  true  historic  significance  at- 
taching to  them,  but  their  presence  links  Shakespeare  with  the 
interest  in  Greek  achievement  which  was  a  corner-stone  of 
the  Renaissance.  The  use  to  which  he  put  Greek  nomen- 
clature is  an  involuntary  act  of  homage  to  *  the  glory  that 
was  Greece.' 

*  The  grandeur  that  was  Rome '  made,  however,  more 
abundant  appeal  to  Shakespeare.  The  history  of  Rome  in  its 
great  outlines  and  its  great  episodes  clearly  fascinated  him 
as  deeply  as  it  fascinated  any  of  the  leaders  of  the  Renais- 
sance. The  subject  in  one  shape  or  another  was  always  in- 
viting his  thought  and  pen.  His  chief  narrative  poem 
Lucrece — one   of   his   first   efforts    in   literature — treats   with 


302  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

exuberant  eagerness  of  a  legend  of  an  early  period  in  Roman 
History  of  history — of  regal  Rome.  When  Shakespeare's 
Rome.  dramatic  powers  were  at  their  maturity  he  sought 

with  concentrated  strength  and  insight  dramatic  material  in 
the  history  of  Rome  at  her  zenith,  as  it  was  revealed  in  the 
pages  of  the  Greek  biographer  Plutarch.  No  lover  of  Shake- 
speare would  complain  if  the  final  judgment  to  be  pronounced 
on  his  work  were  based  on  his  three  Roman  tragedies:  the 
austere  Coriolanus,  with  its  single  but  unflaggingly  sustained 
dramatic  interest,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  the  early 
days  of  the  Roman  Republic;  the  tragedy  of  Julius  Ccesar,  a 
penetrating  political  study  of  the  latest  phase  of  the  Roman 
Republic,  and  the  tragedy  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  a  magi- 
cal presentment  and  interpretation  of  an  episode  in  the  early 
history  of  the  Roman  Empire.  To  Shakespeare's  mind,  any 
survey  of  human  endeavour,  from  which  was  excluded  the 
experience  of  Rome  with  her  *  conquests,  glories,  triumphs, 
spoils,'  would  have  *  shrunk  to  little  measure.' 

Of  Shakespeare's  acquaintance  with  the  literature  of  Rome 
as  represented  by  Ovid,  the  proofs  are  too  numerous  and 
familiar  to  need  rehearsal.  But  there  are  more  recondite 
signs  that  he  had  come  under  the  spell  of  the  greatest  of 
Latin  poems,  the  Mneid  of  that  poet  Virgil,  to  whom  he  was 
likened  in  his  epitaph.  '  One  speech  in  it  I  chiefly  loved,' 
said  Hamlet :  *  'twas  JEneas'  tale  to  Dido ;  and  thereabout 
of  it  especially,  where  he  speaks  of  Priam's  slaughter.' 
Shakespeare  recalls  the  same  Virgilian  story  in  his  beautiful 
and  tender  lines: — 

*In  such  a  night 
Stood  Dido  with  a  willow  in  her  hand 
Upon  the  wild  sea  banks,  and  waft  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage.' 

Not  Roman  poetry  only,  but  also  Roman  drama,  fell  within  the 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     303 

scope  of  Shakespeare's  observation.  The  humours  of  Plautus 
are  reproduced  with  much  fidelity  in  The  Comedy  of  Errors. 
If  we  leave  classical  history  and  literature  for  the  foreign 
literatures  that  were  more  nearly  contemporary  with  Shake- 
speare, evidence  of  devotion  to  one  of  the  ereat- 

^  '  ^  Italian 

est  and  most  prolonged  series  of  foreign  literary    history  and 

literature, 
efforts  crowds  upon  us.     With  Italy — the  Italy  of 

the  Renaissance — his  writings  show  him  to  have  been  in  full 
sympathy  through  the  whole  range  of  his  career.  The  name 
of  every  city  of  modern  Italy  which  had  contributed  anything 
to  the  enlightenment  of  modern  Europe  finds  repeated  men- 
tion in  his  plays.  Florence  and  Padua^  Milan  and  Mantua, 
Venice  and  Verona  are  the  most  familiar  scenes  of  Shake- 
spearian drama.  To  many  Italian  cities  or  districts  definite 
characteristics  that  are  perfectly  accurate  are  allotted. 
Padua,  with  its  famous  university,  is  called  the  nursery  of  the 
arts;  Pisa  is  renowned  for  the  gravity  of  its  citizens;  Lom- 
bardy  is  the  pleasant  garden  of  great  Italy.  The  mystery 
of  Venetian  waterways  excited  Shakespeare's  curiosity.  The 
Italian  word  *  traghetto,'  which  is  reserved  in  Venice  for  the 
anchorage  of  gondolas,  Shakespeare  transferred  to  his  pages 
under  the  slightly   disguised  and  unique  form  of  '  traject.' 

In  the  early  period  of  his  career  Shakespeare's  discipleship 
to  Italian  influences  was  perhaps  most  conspicuous.  In  his 
first  great  experiment  in  tragedy,  his  Romeo  and  Juliet,  he 
handled  a  story  wholly  of  Italian  origin  and  identified  him- 
self with  the  theme  with  a  completeness  that  admits  no  doubt 
of  his  aflinity  with  Italian  feeling.  That  was  the  earliest  of 
his  plays  in  which  he  proved  himself  the  possessor  of  a 
poetic  and  dramatic  instinct  of  unprecedented  quality.  But 
Italian  influences  and  signs  of  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of 
Italy  mark  every  stage  of  his  work.  They  dominate  the  main 
plot  of  the  maturest  of  his  comedies.  Much  Ado  about  Noth- 


304>  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

ing;  they  colour  one  of  his  latest  works_,  his  serious  romantic 
play  of  Cymbeline. 

The  Italian  novel  is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  forms 
of  Italian  literature_,  and  the  Italian  novel  constituted  the 
The  Italian  Diain  field  whence  Shakespeare  derived  his  plots, 
novel.  Apart  from  Love*s  Labour's  Lost  and  A  Midsum- 

mer Night's  Dream,  the  plots  of  which,  while  compounded 
of  many  borrowed  simples,  are  largely  of  Shakespeare's  own 
invention,  apart,  too,  from  The  Comedy  of  Errors,  which  was 
adapted  from  Plautus,  there  is  no  comedy  by  Shakespeare  of 
which  the  fable  does  not  owe  something  to  an  Italian  novel. 
The  story  of  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  and  the  Imogen 
story  of  Cymbeline,  are  of  the  invention  of  Boccaccio — of 
Boccaccio,  the  master-genius  of  the  Italian  novelists.  Much 
Ado  about  Nothing  and  Twelfth  Night  come  from  Bandello, 
the  chief  of  Boccaccio's  disciples,  and  Measure  for  Meas- 
ure is  from  Cinthio,  a  later  disciple  of  Boccaccio,  almost 
Shakespeare's  contemporary.  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona, 
although  based  on  a  Spanish  pastoral  romance,  derives  hints 
from  the  Italian  of  both  Bandello  and  Cinthio. 

How  far  Shakespeare  had  direct  recourse  to  Boccaccio, 
Bandello,  and  Cinthio  is  an  open  question.  The  chief  Italian 
Means  of  novels  were  diffused  in  translations  and  adapta- 
the Ttalfan  ^^^^^  throughout  Europe.  The  work  of  Bandello, 
novel.  ^Y^Q  enjoyed,  of  all  Italian  novelists,  the  highest 

popularity  in  the  sixteenth  century,  was  constantly  reappear- 
ing in  Italian,  French,  and  English  shapes,  which  rendered 
easy  the  study  of  his  tales  in  the  absence  of  access  to  the 
original  version.  Shakespeare  readily  identified  himself  with 
the  most  popular  literary  currents  of  his  epoch,  and  worked 
with  zest  on  Bandello's  most  widely  disseminated  stories. 
Before   he   wrote   Much   Ado   About  Nothing,   the   story   by 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     305 

Bandello,  which  it  embodies,  had   experienced   at  least   four 

adaptations;  it  had  been  translated  into  French;  it  had  been 

retold  in  Italian  by  Ariosto  in  his  epic  of  Orlando  Furioso; 

it  had  been  dramatised  in  English  by  one  student  of  Ariosto, 

and  had  been  translated  into  English  out  of  the  great  Italian 

poet  by  another  (Sir  John  Harington).     Similarly,  Bandello's 

tale,  which  gave  Shakespeare  his  cue  for  Twelfth  Night,  had 

first  been  rendered  into  French;  it  was  then  translated  from 

French    into    English;    it    was    afterwards    adapted    anew    in 

English  prose  from  the  Italian;  it  was  dramatised  in  Italian 

by  three  dramatists  independently,  and  two  of  these  Italian 

dramas  had  been  translated  into  French.     Shakespeare's  play 

of    Twelfth    Night    was    at    least    the    ninth    version    which 

Bandello's  fable  had  undergone. 

There  are  two  plays  of  Shakespeare  which  compel  us  in 

the   present   state   of   our   knowledge   to   the   conclusion   that 

Shakespeare    had    recourse    to    the    Italian    itself. 

Othello  and 
The  story  of  Othello  as  far  as  we  know  was  solely    Merchant 

of  Venice. 

accessible  to  him  in  the  Italian  novel  of  Cinthio. 
Many  of  Cinthio's  stories  had  been  translated  into  English; 
many  more  had  been  translated  into  French,  but  there  is  no 
rendering  into  either  French  or  English  of  Othello's  tragical 
history.  Again  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice  we  trace  the  direct 
influence  of  II  Pecorone,  a  fourteenth-century  collection  of 
Italian  novels  by  Ser  Giovanni  Fiorentino;  that  collection  re- 
mained unpublished  till  1558,  and  was  in  Shakespeare's  day 
alone  to  be  found  in  the  Italian  original.  The  bare  story  of 
the  Jew  and  the  pound  of  flesh  was  very  generally  accessible. 
But  it  is  only  in  Shakespeare's  play  and  in  II  Pecorone  that 
the  defaulting  Christian  debtor,  whose  pound  of  flesh  is 
demanded  by  his  Jewish  creditor,  is  rescued  through  the 
advocacy  of  *  The  Lady  of  Belmont,'  wife  of  the  Christian 

U 


306  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

debtor's  friend.     The  management  of  the  plot  in  the  Italian 

novel  is  indeed  more  closely  followed  by  Shakespeare  than 

was  his  ordinary  habit. 

The  Italian  fable,  it  is  to  be  admitted,  merely  formed  as 

a  rule  the  basis  of  his  structure.     Having  surveyed  all  its 

possibilities,  he  altered  and  transmuted  the  story 
Shake-  ,        ,  ^        -,  , 

speare's  with    the    utmost    freedom    as    his    artistic    spirit 

methods  of     moved  him.     His  changes  bear  weighty  testimony 

to  the  greatness  of   his   conceptions  of  both  life 

and  literature.      In  Measure  for  Measure,  by  diverting  the 

course  of  an  Italian  novel  at  a  critical  point  he  not  merely 

showed  his  artistic  ingenuity  but  gave  dramatic  dignity  and 

unusual  elevation  to  a  degraded  and  repellent  theme.     Again, 

in  Othello,  the  tragic  purpose  is  planned  by  him  anew.     The 

scales  never   fall   from  Othello's   eyes   in  the   Italian  novel. 

He  dies  in  the  belief  that  his  wife  is  guilty.     Shakespeare's 

catastrophe   is   invested   with   new   and   fearful   intensity   by 

making  lago's  cruel  treachery  known  to  Othello  at  the  last, 

after  lago's  perfidy  has  compelled  the  noble-hearted  Moor  in 

his   groundless   jealousy  to   murder  his   gentle   and  innocent 

wife   Desdemona.      Too   late    Othello    sees   in    Shakespeare's 

tragedy  that  he   is   the  dupe  of   lago   and  that  his  wife  is 

guiltless.     But,  despite  the  magnificent  freedom  with  which 

Shakespeare    often   handled   the    Italian   novel,   it   is   to   the 

suggestion    of    that    form    of    Italian    literary    art    that    his 

dramatic  achievements  owe  a  profound  and  extended  debt. 

Not  that  in  the  field  of  Italian  literature  Shakespeare's  debt 

was    whoUy    confined    to    the    novel:      Italian    lyric    poetry 

left  its  impress  on  the  most  inspiring  of  Shake- 
Petrarch.  /.   TTT 

speare  s  lyric  flights.  Every  sonneteer  ot  West- 
ern Europe  acknowledged  Petrarch  (of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury) to  be  his  master,  and  from  Petrarchan  inspiration  came 
the  form  and  much  of  the  spirit  of  Shakespeare's  sonnets. 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     307 

Petrarch's  ambition  to  exalt  in  the  sonnet  the  ideal  type  of 

beauty,  and  to  glorify  ethereal  sentiment,  is  the  final  cause  of 

Shakespeare's  contributions  to  sonnet-literature.     At  first  hand 

Shakespeare  may  have  known  little  or  even  nothing  of  the 

Italian's    poetry   which   he   once    described   with   a   touch    of 

scorn  as  '  the  numbers  that  Petrarch  flowed  in.'     But  English, 

French,    and    contemporary    adaptations    of    Petrarch's    ideas 

and  phrases  were  abundant  enough  to  relieve  Shakespeare  of 

the  necessity  of  personal  recourse  to  the  original  text  while 

the  Petrarchan  influence  was  ensnaring  him.     The  cultured 

air    of   Elizabethan    England   was   charged   with    Petrarchan 

conceits   and  imagery.      Critics  may  differ  as  to  the  precise 

texture    or    dimensions    of    the    bonds    which    unite    the    two 

poets,  but  they  cannot  question  their  existence. 

Nor  was  Shakespeare  wholly  ignorant  of  another  mode  in 

which  Italian  imaginative  power  manifested  itself.     He  was 

not  wholly  ignorant  of  Italian  art.     In  The  Win- 

*      rrf   7      1  1  /•  T     1  Italian  art. 

ter  s    iale   he    speaks   of    a   contemporary    Italian 

artist,  Giulio  Romano,  with  singular  enthusiasm.  He  describes 
the  supposed  statue  of  Hermione  as  *  performed  by  that  rare 
Italian  master,  Giulio  Romano,  who,  had  he  himself  eternity 
and  could  put  breath  into  his  work,  would  beguile  Nature  of 
her  custom,  so  perfectly  is  he  her  ape,'  No  loftier  praise 
could  be  bestowed  on  a  worker  in  the  plastic  arts.  Giulio 
Romano  is  better  known  as  a  painter  than  a  sculptor,  but 
sculpture  occupied  him  as  well  as  painting  in  early  life,  and 
although  Michael  Angelo's  name  might  perhaps  have  been 
more  appropriate  and  obvious,  Shakespeare  was  guilty  of 
no  inaccuracy  in  associating  with  Romano's  name  the  sur- 
passing qualities  of  Italian  Renaissance  sculpture. 


308  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


VII 

Of  the  great  foreign  authors  who  outside  Italy  were  more 
or  less  contemporary  with  the  Elizabethans,  those  of  France 
Poetry  of  loom  large  in  the  Shakespearian  arena.  No  Eliza- 
France,  bethan  disdained  the  close  study  of  sixteenth-cen- 
tury literature  of  France.  Elizabethan  poetry  finally  ripened 
in  the  light  of  the  lyric  effort  of  Ronsard  and  his  fellow- 
masters  of  the  Pleiade  School.  Ronsard  and  his  friends, 
Du  Bellay  and  De  Baif,  had  shortly  before  Shakespeare's 
birth  deliberately  set  themselves  the  task  of  refining  their 
country's  poetry  by  imitating  in  French  the  classical  form 
and  spirit.  Their  design  met  with  rare  success.  They  brought 
into  being  a  mass  of  French  verse  which  is  comparable  by 
virtue  of  its  delicate  imagery  and  simple  harmonies  with  the 
best  specimens  of  the  Greek  anthology.  It  was  under  the 
banner  of  the  Pleiade  chieftains  and  as  translators  of  poems 
by  one  or  other  of  their  retainers,  that  Spenser  and  Daniel, 
Lodge  and  Chapman,  set  forth  on  their  literary  careers. 
Shakespeare  could  not  escape  altogether  from  the  toils  of 
this  active  influence.  It  was  Ronsard's  example  which  in- 
troduced into  Elizabethan  poetry  the  classical  conceit,  which 
Shakespeare  turned  to  magnificent  advantage  in  his  sonnets, 
that  the  poet's  verses  are  immortal  and  can  alone  give  immor- 
tality to  those  whom  he  commemorates.  Insistence  on  the 
futility  of  loveless  beauty  which  lives  for  itself  alone,  adula- 
tion of  a  patron  in  terms  of  affection  which  are  borrowed  from 
the  vocabulary  of  love,  expressions  of  fear  that  a  patron's 
favour  may  be  alienated  by  rival  interests,  were  characteristic 
motives  of  the  odes  and  sonnets  of  the  Pleiade,  and,  though 
they  came  to  France  from  Italy,  they  seem  to  have  first 
caught  Shakespeare's  ear  in  their  French  guise. 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     309 

When  Shakespeare  in  his  Sonnets  (No.  xliv.)  reflects  with 
vivid  precision  on  the  nimbleness  of  thought  which 

'can  jump  both  sea  and  land 
As  soon  as  think  the  place  where  he  would  be,* 

he  seems  to  repeat  a  note  that  the  French  sonneteers  con- 
stantly sounded  without  much  individual  variation.  It  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  Shakespeare's  description  of  Thought's 
triumphs  over  space,  and  its  power  of  leaping  '  large  lengths 
of  miles/  did  not  directly  echo  Du  Bellay's  apostrophe  to 
*  Penser  volage/  or  the  address  of  Du  Bellay's  disciple  Amadis 
Jamyn  to 

*  Penser,  qui  peux  en  un  moment  grand  erre 

Courir  leger  tout  I'espace  des  cieux, 

Toute  la  terre,  et  les  flots  spacieux. 

Qui  peux  aussi  penetrer  sous  la  terre.'  * 

»  Sonnets  to  Thought  are  especially  abundant  in  the  poetry  of  sixteenth- 
century  France,  though  they  are  met  with  in  Italy.  The  reader  may  be 
interested  in  comparing  in  detail  Shakespeare's  Sonnet  xliv.  with  the  two 
French  sonnets  to  which  reference  is  made  in  the  text.     The  first  sonnet 

runs: 

'Penser  volage,  et  leger  comme  vent, 
Qui  or'  au  ciel,  or'  en  mer,  or'  en  terre 
En  un  moment  cours  et  recours  grand'  erre. 
Voire  au  seiour  des  ombres  bien  souvent. 
En  quelque  part  que  voises  t'eslevant 
Ou  rabaissant,  celle  qui  me  fait  guerre, 
Celle  beaute  tousiours  deuant  toy  erre, 
Et  tu  la  vas  d'un  leger  pied  suyvant. 
Pourquoy  suis  tu  (o  penser  trop  peu  sage) 
Ce  qui  te  nuit?  pourquoy  vas-tu  sans  guide. 
Par  ce  chemin  plain  d'erreur  variable? 
Si  de  parler  au  moins  eusses  I'usage, 
Tu  me  rendrois  de  tant  de  peine  vuide. 
Toy  en  repos  et  elle  pitoyable.' 

(Du  Bellay,  Olive  xliii.) 
The  second  sonnet  runs : 

'  Penser,  qui  peux  en  vn  moment  grand  erre 
Courir  leger  tout  I'espace  des  cieux, 
Toute  la  terre,  et  les  flots  spacieux, 
Qui  peux  aussi  penetrer  sous  la  terre : 


SIO  GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 

But    Shakespeare's    interest   in   French   literature   was    not 

confined  to  the  pleasant  and  placid  art  or  the  light  ethereal 

philosophy  of  Ronsard's  school.  The  burly  hu- 
Rabelais  t^    i    i  i  i         i  t^ 

and  morist  Rabelais,  who  was  older  than  Ronsard  by 

a  generation,  and  proved  the  strongest  personality 
in  the  whole  era  of  the  French  Renaissance,  clearly  came 
within  the  limits  of  Shakespeare's  cognisance.  The  younger 
French  writer,  Montaigne,  who  was  living  during  Shake- 
speare's first  thirty-eight  years  of  life,  was  no  less  familiar 
to  the  English  dramatist  as  author  of  the  least  embarrassed 
and  most  suggestive  reflections  on  human  life  which  any 
autobiographical  essayist  has  produced.  From  Montaigne,  the 
typical  child  of  the  mature  Renaissance  in  France,  Shake- 
speare borrowed  almost  verbatim  Gonzalo's  description  in 
The  Tempest  of  an  ideal  socialistic  commonwealth. 


This  brief  survey  justifies  the  conclusion  that  an  almost 
limitless  tract  of  foreign  literature  lent  light  and  heat  to 
Alertness  Shakespeare's  intellect  and  imagination.  He  may 
ford^™^^  not  have  come  to  close  quarters  with  much  of  it. 
knowledge.     Little  of  it  did  he  investigate  minutely.     But  he 

Par  toy  souvent  celle-1^  qui  m'enferre 
De  mille  traits  cuisans  et  furieux, 
Se  represente  au  devant  de  mes  yeux, 
Me  mena^ant  d'vne  bien  longue  guerre 
Que  tu  es  vain,  puis-que  ie  ne  sgaurois 
T'accompagnant  aller  ou  ie  voudrois, 
Et  discourir  mes  douleurs  k  ma  Dame! 
Las!  que  n'as  tu  Ie  parler  comme  moy, 
Pour  Im  conter  Ie  feu  de  mon  esm^oy, 
Et  lui  letter  dessous  Ie  sein  ma  flame? ' 

(Amadis  Jamyn,  Sonnet  xxi.) 
Tasso's  sonnet  (Venice  1583,  i.  p.  33)  beginning:  'Come  s'human  pensier 
di  giunger  tenta  Al  luogo,'  and  Ronsard's  sonnet  (Amours,  i.  clxviii.)  begin- 
ning :  '  Ce  fol  penser,  pour  s'envoler  trop  haut/  should  also  be  studied  in 
this  coanectioii. 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     311 

perceived  and  absorbed  its  form  and  pressure  at  the  lightning 
pace  which  his  intuitive  faculty  alone  could  master.  We  may 
apply  to  him  his  own  words  in  his  description  of  the  training 
of  his  hero  Posthumus,  in  Cymheline,     He  had  at  command — 

* ...    All  the  learnings  that  his  time 
Could  make  him  the  receiver  of;  which  he  took, 
As  we  do  air,  fast  as  'twas  ministered, 
And  in  's  spring  became  a  harvest.* 

The  world  was  Shakespeare's  oyster  which  he  with  pen 
could  open.  The  mere  geographical  aspect  of  his  dramas 
proves  his  width  of  outlook  beyond  English  boun-  Thegeo- 
daries.  In  no  less  than  twenty-six  plays  of  the  f^^ntof^^ 
whole  thirty-seven  are  we  transported  for  a  space  ^®^- 
to  foreign  towns.  In  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  in  Timon 
of  Athens,  Athens  is  our  home,  and  so  occasionally  in  Antony 
and  Cleopatra.  Ephesus  was  the  scene  of  The  Comedy  of 
Errors  and  part  of  the  play  of  Pericles.  Messina,  in  Sicily, 
is  presented  in  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  as  well  as  in 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  which  also  takes  us  to  Alexandria, 
to  a  plain  in  Syria,  and  to  Actium.  Pericles  introduces  us  to 
Antioch,  Tarsus,  Pentapolis,  Mytilene,  together  with  Ephesus ; 
Troilus  and  Cressida  to  Troy;  and  Othello  to  Cyprus.  In 
no  less  than  five  plays  the  action  passes  in  Rome.  Not  only 
is  the  ancient  capital  of  the  world  the  scene  of  the  Roman 
plays  Titus  Andronicus,  Coriolanus,  Julius  Ccesar,  and  Antony 
and  Cleopatra,  but  in  Cymheline  much  that  is  important  to 
the  plot  is  developed  in  the  same  surroundings.  Of  all  the 
historic  towns  of  northern  Italy  can  the  like  story  be  told. 
Hardly  any  European  country  is  entirely  omitted  from 
Shakespeare's  map  of  the  world.  The  Winter's  Tale  takes 
us   to   Sicily   and   Bohemia;    Twelfth   Night   to   an   unnamed 


312  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

city  in  Illyria;  Hamlet  to  Elsinore  in  Denmark;  Measure  for 

Measure  to  Vienna,  and  Love*s  Labour's  Lost  to  Navarre. 

Shakespeare's    plays    teach    much    of    the    geography    of 

Europe.      But   none   must   place   unchecked   reliance   on   the 

geographical  details  which   Shakespeare   supplies. 

graphical  The  want  of  exact  scholarship  which  is  character- 
blunders. 

istic  of  Shakespeare's  attitude  to  literary  study,  is 

especially  noticeable  in  his  geographical  assertions.  He 
places  a  scene  in  The  Winter's  Tale  in  Bohemia  '  in  a  desert 
country  near  the  sea.'  Unluckily  Bohemia  has  no  seaboard. 
Shakespeare's  looseness  of  statement  is  common  to  him  and 
at  least  one  contemporary.  In  this  description  of  his  Bohe- 
mian scene,  Shakespeare  followed  the  English  novelist,  Robert 
Greene,  from  whom  he  borrowed  the  plot  of  A  Winter's 
Tale.  A  fantastic  endeavour  has  been  made  to  justify  the 
error  by  showing  that  Apulia,  a  province  on  the  seacoast  of 
Italy,  was  sometimes  called  Bohemia.  The  only  just  deduc- 
tion to  be  drawn  from  Shakespeare's  bestowal  of  a  seacoast  on 
Bohemia,  is  that  he  declined  with  unscholarly  indifference 
to  submit  himself  to  bonds  of  mere  literal  fact. 

Shakespeare's  dramatic  purpose  was  equally  well  served, 
whether  his  geographical  information  was  correct  or  incorrect, 
and  it  was  rarely  that  he  attempted  independent  verification. 
In  his  Roman  plays  he  literally  depended  on  North's  popular 
translation  of  Plutarch's  Lives.  He  was  content  to  take 
North  as  his  final  authority,  and  wherever  North  erred  Shake- 
speare erred  with  him.  In  matters  of  classical  geography 
and  topography  he  consequently  stumbled  with  great  fre- 
quency, and  quite  impenitently.  In  Antony  and  Cleopatra 
Shakespeare  includes  Lydia  among  the  Queen  of  Egypt's 
provinces  or  possessions.  Lydia  is  a  district  in  Asia  Minor 
with  which  Cleopatra  never  had  relation.  Plutarch  wrote 
quite  correctly  that  the  district  of  Libya  in  North  Africa  was 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON   SHAKESPEARE     313 

for  a  time  under  the  Queen  of  Egypt's  sway.  Shakespeare 
fell  blindly  into  the  error,  caused  by  a  misprint  or  misreading, 
of  which  no  scholar  acquainted  with  classical  geography  was 
likely  to  be  guilty. 

Again,  in  Julius  Ccesar,  there  are  many  errors  of  like  kind 
due  to  like  causes — to  casual  acts  of  carelessness  on  the  part 
of  the  English  translator,  which  Shakespeare  adopted  with- 
out scruple.  Mark  Antony  in  Shakespeare  describes  the 
gardens  which  Caesar  bequeathed  to  the  people  of  Rome  as 
on  this  side  of  the  Tiber — on  the  same  side  as  the  Forum — 
where  the  crowded  streets  and  population  left  no  room  for 
gardens.  Plutarch  had  correctly  described  the  Tiber  gardens 
as  lying  across  the  Tiber,  on  the  opposite  side  to  that  where 
the  Forum  lay.  A  very  simple  mistake  had  been  committed 
by  North  or  his  printers :  *  on  that  side  of  the  Tiber  '  had 
been  misread  '  on  this  side.'  But  Shakespeare  was  oblivious 
of  a  confusion,  which  would  be  readily  perceived  by  one 
personally  acquainted  with  Rome,  or  one  who  had  studied 
Roman  topography. 


IX 

But  more  interesting  than  the  mere  enumeration  of  details 
of  Shakespeare's  scenes  or  of  the  literature  that  he  absorbed 
is  it  to  consider  in  broad  outline  how  his  knowl-  The 
edge  of  foreign  literature  worked  on  his  imagina-  gp^riUn 
tion,  how  far  it  affected  his  outlook  on  life.  How  Shakespeare. 
far  did  Shakespeare  catch  the  distinctive  characteristics  of  the 
inhabitants  of  foreign  lands  and  cities  who  fill  his  stage? 
How  much  genuine  foreign  spirit  did  he  breathe  into  the 
foreign  names?  Various  answers  have  been  given  to  this 
inquiry.  There  are  schools  of  critics  which  deny  to  Shake- 
speare's    foreign    creations — to    the    Roman    characters    of 


314  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Julius  CcBsar,  or  to  the  Italian  characters  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet  and  Othello — any  national  or  individual  traits.  All, 
we  are  told  by  some,  are  to  the  backbone  Elizabethan  Eng- 
lishmen and  Englishwomen.  Others  insist  that  they  are 
universal  types  of  human  nature  in  which  national  idiosyn- 
crasies have  no  definite  place. 

Neither  verdict  is  satisfactory.  No  one  disputes  that 
Shakespeare  handled  the  universal  features  of  humanity, 
the  traits  common  to  all  mankind.  On  the  surface  the  high- 
est manifestations  of  the  great  passions — ambition,  jealousy, 
unrequited  love — are  the  same  throughout  the  world  and 
have  no  peculiarly  national  colour.  But,  to  the  seeing  eye, 
men  and  women,  when  yielding  to  emotions  that  are  univer- 
sal, take  something  from  the  bent  of  their  education,  from 
the  tone  of  the  climate  and  scenery  that  environs  them.  The 
temperament  of  the  untutored  savage  differs  from  that  of 
the  civilised  man;  the  predominating  mood  of  northern  peo- 
ples differs  from  that  of  southern  peoples.  Shakespeare  was 
far  too  enlightened  a  student  of  human  nature,  whether  he 
met  men  and  women  in  life  or  literature,  to  ignore  such  facts 
as  these.  His  study  of  foreign  literature  especially  brought 
them  home  to  him,  and  gave  him  opportunities  of  realising 
the  distinctions  in  human  character  that  are  due  to  race  or 
climate.  Of  this  knowledge  he  took  full  advantage.  Love- 
making  is  universal,  but  Shakespeare  recognised  the  diver- 
sities of  amorous  emotion  and  expression  which  race  and 
climate  engender.  What  contrast  can  be  greater  than  the 
boisterous  blimtness  in  which  the  English  king,  Henry  v., 
gives  expression  to  his  love,  and  the  pathetic  ardour  in  which 
Historic  ^^    young    Italians    Romeo    and    Ferdinand   urge 

sensibility.  |.jjgjj.  g^its  ?  Intuitively,  perhaps  involuntarily, 
Shakespeare  with  his  unrivalled  sureness  of  insight  impreg- 
nated   his    characters    with    such    salient    features    of    their 


FOREIGN   INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     315 

national  idiosyncrasies  as  made  tliem  true  to  the  environment 
that  was  appointed  for  them  in  the  work  of  fiction  or  history 
on  which  he  founded  his  drama.  As  the  poet  read  old  novels 
and  old  chronicles,  his  dramatic  genius  stirred  in  him  a  rare 
force  of  historic  imagination  and  sensibility.  Study  developed 
in  Shakespeare  an  historic  sense  of  a  surer  quality  than  that 
with  which  any  professed  historian  has  yet  been  gifted. 
Caesar  and  Brutus,  of  whom  Shakespeare  learned  all  he  knew 
in  the  pages  of  Plutarch,  are  more  alive  in  the  drama  of 
Julius  Ccesar  than  in  the  pages  of  the  historian  Mommsen. 
Cleopatra  is  the  historic  queen  of  Egypt,  and  no  living  por- 
trait of  her  is  known  outside  Shakespeare.  No  minor  errors 
in  detail  destroy  the  historic  vraisemblance  of  any  of  Shake- 
speare's dramatic  pictures. 

The  word  '  atmosphere  '  is  hackneyed  in  the  critical  jargon 
of  the  day.     Yet  the  term  has  graphic  value.     Shakespeare 

apprehended  the  true  environment  of  the  heroes 

^^  Fidelity 

and  heroines  to  whom  his  reading  of  history  or     to'atmos- 

romance  introduced  him,  because  no  writer  had  a 

keener,  quicker  sense  of  atmosphere  than  he.     The  comedies 

and  tragedies,  of  which  the  scene  is  laid  in  Southern  Europe, 

in  Italy  or  Greece  or  Egypt,  are  all  instinct  with  the  hot 

passion,  the  gaiety,  the  lightness  of  heart,  the  quick  jest,  the 

crafty   intrigue,   which   breathe   the   warm    air,    the   brilliant 

sunshine,  the  deep  shadows,  the  long  days  of  southern  skies. 

The   great   series   of  the   English   history   plays,   with   the 

bourgeois  supplement  of  The  Merry  Wives,  is,  like  the  dramas 

of  British  legend,  Macbeth  and  King  Lear  and  Cymheline, 

mainly  confined  to  English  or  British  scenery.     Apart  from 

them,   only  one   Shakespearian   play  carries  the  reader  to   a 

northern  clime,  or  touches  northern  history.     The  rest  take 

him  to  the  south  and  introduce  him  to  southern  lands.     The 

one  northern  play  is  Hamlet.     The  introspective  melancholy 


316  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

that  infects  not  the  hero  only,  but  his  uncle,  and  to  a 
smaller  extent  his  friend  Horatio  and  his  mother — a  melan- 
choly which  is  almost  peculiar  to  them  in  the  range  of  Shake- 
spearian humanity — belongs  to  the  type  of  mind  which  is 
reared  in  a  land  of  mists  and  long  nights,  of  leaden  skies 
and  cloud-darkened  days.  Such  are  the  distinguishing 
features  of  the  northern  Danish  climate.  Shakespeare's 
historic  sense  would  never  have  allowed  him  to  give  Hamlet  a 
local  habitation  in  Naples  or  Messina,  any  more  than  it  would 
have  suffered  him  to  represent  Juliet  or  Othello  as  natives 
of  Copenhagen  or  London. 

Another  point  is  worth  remarking.  Shakespeare  took  a 
very  wide  view  of  human  history,  and  few  of  the  conditions 

that  moulded  human  character  escaped  his  notice. 
Width  of  ... 

historic  His    historic   insight  taught   him   that   civilisation 

outlook. 

progressed  m  various  parts  of  the  world  at  various 

rates.  He  could  interpret  human  feeling  and  aspirations  at 
any  stage  of  development  in  the  scale  of  civilisation.  Under 
the  spur  of  speculation,  which  was  offered  by  the  discovery  of 
America,  barbarism  interested  him  hardly  less  than  civilisa- 
tion. Caliban  is  one  of  his  greatest  conceptions.  In  Caliban 
he  depicts  an  imaginary  portrait  conceived  with  the  utmost 
vigour  and  vividness  of  the  aboriginal  savage  of  the  new 
world,  of  which  he  had  heard  from  travellers  or  read  in 
books  of  travel.  Caliban  hovers  on  the  lowest  limits  of  civili- 
sation. His  portrait  is  an  attempt  to  depict  human  nature 
when  just  on  the  verge  of  the  evolution  of  moral  sentiment 
and  intellectual  culture. 

Shakespeare  was  no  less  attracted  by  the  opposite  extreme 
in  the  scale  of  civilisation.  He  loved  to  observe  civilisation 
that  was  over-ripe,  that  had  overleaped  itself,  and  was 
descending  on  the  other  side  to  effeteness  and  ruin.  This 
type  Shakespeare  slightly  sketched  at  the  outset  in  his  por- 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     317 

trait  of  the  Spanish  Armado  in  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  but 
the  painting  of  it  only  engaged  his  full  strength,  when  he 
turned  in  later  life  to  Egypt.  Queen  Cleopatra,  the  '  ser- 
pent of  old  Nile,'  who  by  her  time-honoured  magic  brmgs 
*  experience,  manhood,  honour,'  to  dotage,  is  Shakespeare's 
supreme  contribution  to  the  study  of  civilised  humanity's 
decline  and  fall. 


But   it   was   the   thought   and   emotion   that   animated   the 

livinff  staffe   of  his  own  epoch  which  mainly  en-     ghake- 
HV1115  &  ,       ^T  J        1.      T,  4.V.^«     speares 

gaged  Shakespeare's  pencil.     He  cared  not  whether     relation  to 

his   themes   and   scenes  belonged   to   England    or     ^^^^^• 
foreign  countries.    The  sentiments  and  aspirations  which  filled 
the  air  of  his   era  were  part  of  his  being   and  to  them  he 
gave  the  crowning  expression. 

Elizabethan   literature,   which   was   the   noblest   manifesta- 
tion in   England  of  the  Renaissance,  reached  its   apotheosis 
in   Shakespeare.      It  had   absorbed   all   the   suste-   ^j.^^^ethan 
nance  of  the  new  movement-the  enthusiasm  for  me^rature 
the    Greek    and    Latin    classics,    the    passion    for   Renais- 
extending    the    limits    of    human    knowledge,    the 
resolve  to  make  the  best  and  not  the  worst  of  life  upon  earth, 
the  ambition  to  cultivate  the  idea  of  beauty,  the  conviction 
that   man's    reason   was    given   him   by    God   to   use   without 
restraint.     All  these  new  sentiments  went  to  the   formation 
of   Shakespeare's   work,   and   found  there   perfect   definition. 
The  watchword  of  the  mighty  movement  was  sounded  in  his 

familiar  lines: 

*Sure,  He  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse, 
Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 
The  capability  and  god-like  reason. 
To  fust  in  us  unused.* 


318  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

Upon  the  new  faith  of  the  Renaissance  in  the  perfecti- 
bility of  man,  intellectually,  morally,  and  physically,  Shake- 
speare pronomiced  the  final  word  in  his  deathless  phrases: 
*  What  a  piece  of  work  is  man !  How  noble  in  reason !  how 
infinite  in  faculties !  in  form  and  moving,  how  express  and 
admirable!  in  action,  how  like  an  angel!  In  apprehension, 
how  like  a  god ! '  Renaissance  authors  of  France,  Italy,  and 
Spain  expressed  themselves  to  like  intent.  But  probably  in 
these  words  of  Shakespeare  is  enshrined  with  best  efi'ect  the 
true  significance  of  the  new  enlightenment. 

Shakespeare's    lot   was    cast   by   the    silent    forces    of   the 
universe,  in  the  full  current  of  this  movement  of  the  Renais- 
sance which  was  in  his  lifetime  still  active  in  every 
Shake-  ^ 

speare's  country  of  Western  Europe.     He  was  the  contem- 

foreign  n  m  *  >  i        i 

contem-         porary  of  Tasso,  Ariosto  s  successor  on  the  throne 

of  Italian  Renaissance  poetry  and  its  last  occu- 
pant. Ronsard  and  the  poets  of  the  French  Renaissance 
flourished  in  his  youth.  Montaigne,  the  glory  of  the  French 
Renaissance,  whose  thought  on  man's  potentialities  ran  very 
parallel  with  Shakespeare's,  was  very  little  his  senior. 
Cervantes,  the  most  illustrious  figure  in  the  literature  of  the 
Spanish  Renaissance,  was  his  senior  by  only  seventeen  years, 
and  died  only  ten  days  before  him.  All  these  men  and  their 
countless  coadjutors  and  disciples  were  subject  to  many  of 
the  same  influences  as  Shakespeare  was.  The  results  of  their 
efforts  often  bear  one  to  another  not  merely  a  general  resem- 
blance, but  a  specific  likeness,  which  amazes  the  investigator. 
How  many  poets  and  dramatists  of  sixteenth-century  Italy, 
France  and  Spain,  applied  their  energies  to  developing  the 
identical  plots,  and  the  identical  traditions  of  history  as 
Shakespeare?  Almost  all  countries  of  Western  Europe  were 
producing  at  the  same  period,  under  the  same  incitement  of 
the  revival  of  learning,  and  the  renewal  of  intellectual  energy. 


FOREIGN  INFLUENCES  ON  SHAKESPEARE     319 

tragedies  of  Julius  Caesar,  of  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  of 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  of  Timon  of  Athens.  All  countries  of 
Western  Europe  were  producing  sonnets  and  lyrics  of  identi- 
cal pattern  with  unprecedented  fertility;  all  were  producing 
prose  histories  and  prose  essays  of  the  like  type;  all  were 
surveying  the  same  problems  of  science  and  philosophy,  and 
offering  much  the  same  solutions. 

The  direct  interchange,  the  direct  borrowings  are  not  the 
salient  features  of  the  situation.  Less  material  influences 
than    translation    or    plagiarism    were    at    work; 

allowance   must   be   made    for   the   community    of     sion  of  the 

spirit  of  the 
feeling  among  all  literary  artificers   of   the   day,     Renais- 

for  the  looking  backwards  to  classical  literature, 

for  the  great  common  stock  of  philosophical  sentiments  and 

ideas  to  which  at  that  epoch  authors  of  all  countries  under 

the   sway   of  the   movement  of   the   Renaissance   had   access 

independently. 

National  and  individual  idiosyncrasies  deeply  coloured  the 
varied  literatures  in  which  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  was 
embodied.  But  that  unique  spirit  is  visible  amid  all  the 
manifestations  of  national  and  individual  genius  and  tempera- 
ment. 

When  we  endeavour  to  define  the  foreign  influences  at 
work  on  Shakespeare's  achievement,  we  should  beware  of 
assigning  to  the  specific  influence  of  any  indi-  Misappre- 
vidual  foreign  writers  those  characteristics  which  be^ua^dS 
were  really  the  property  of  the  whole  epoch,  which  ^g^^^^- 
belonged  to  the  stores  of  thought  independently  at  the  dis- 
posal of  every  rational  being  who  was  capable  at  the  period 
of  assimilating  them.  Much  has  been  made  of  the 
parallelisms  of  sentiment  between  Shakespeare  and  his 
French  contemporary  Montaigne,  the  most  enlightened  repre- 
sentative of  the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance  in  France.     Such 


320  GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 

parallelisms  stand  apart  from  that  literal  borrowing  by 
Shakespeare  of  part  of  a  speech  in  The  Tempest  from 
Montaigne's  essay  on  '  cannibals.'  The  main  resemblances  in 
sentiment  concern  the  two  men's  attitude  to  far  reaching 
questions  of  philosophy.  But  there  is  little  justice  in  repre- 
senting the  one  as  a  borrower  from  the  other.  Both  gave 
voice  in  the  same  key  to  that  demand  of  the  humanists  of  the 
Renaissance  for  the  freest  possible  employment  of  man's 
reasoning  faculty.  Shakespeare  and  Montaigne  were  only 
two  of  many  who  were  each,  for  the  most  part  independently, 
interpreting  in  the  light  of  his  individual  genius,  and  under 
the  sway  of  the  temperament  of  his  nation,  the  highest  prin- 
ciples of  enlightenment  and  progress,  of  which  the  spirit  of 
the  time  was  parent. 

Direct  foreign  influences  are  obvious  in  Shakespeare;  they 
are  abundant  and  varied;  they  compel  investigation.  But  no 
study  of  them  can  throw  true  and  trustworthy  light  on  any 
corner  of  Shakespeare's  work,  unless  we  associate  with  our 
study  a  full  recognition,  not  merely  of  the  personal  pre- 
eminence of  Shakespeare's  genius  and  intuition,  but  also  of 
the  diffusion  through  Western  Europe  of  the  spirit  of  the 
Renaissance.  That  was  the  broad  basis  on  which  the 
foundations  of  Shakespeare's  mighty  and  unique  achievement 
were  laid. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abbott,  The  Rev.  E.  A.,  his  Life  and 
Works  of  Bacon,  214;  his  edition  of 
the  Essays,  214. 

Achilles,  179. 

iEneas,  179. 

iEschylus,  Persae,  293. 

Africa,  9. 

Agamemnon,  301. 

Alcibiades,  301. 

Alexander,  Sir  William,  Earl  of  Stir- 
ling, 101. 

Alleyn,  Edward,  actor,  273. 

Amadis  of  Gaul,  99. 

Amazon,  river,  205. 

America,  119,  255. 

Antwerp,  27,  28. 

Arber,  Edward,  his  edition  of  Bacon's 
Essays,  214. 

Arcadia,  by  Sanazzaros,  98. 

by  Sidney.     See  svb  Sidney,  Sir 

Philip,  Works. 

Arden,  Mary,  257. 

'Areopagus,'  the  club,  86,  166. 

Ariosto,  179,  196,  305,  318. 

Aristides,  More  compared  with,  58. 

Aristotle,  92,  199,  246. 

Artaxerxes,  146. 

Artegal,  Sir,  174,  199. 

Arthur,  Prince,  201. 

Arundel,  Thomas  Howard,  14th  Eari 
of,  237  and  n. 

Ascham,  Roger,  159. 

Assyria,  146. 

Aubrey,  John,  eariy  biographer  of 
Shakespeare,  229,  237  n.,  244,  296. 

Audley,  Sir  Thomas,  More's  suc- 
cessor in  the  Chancellorship,  44  n. 


gustine,  St.,  his  'City  of  God,'  22. 
Austria,    dramatic    performances    in, 

297. 
Avon,  river,  280. 

Babylon,  146. 

Bacon,  Francis,  214-255;  Bibliog- 
raphy, 214;  second  in  greatness 
to  Shakespeare,  215;  Bacon  and 
Shakespeare  distinct,  215;  his  life 
and  work,  216;  his  parentage,  216; 
his  mother,  216;  his  advantage  of 
birth,  217;  birth,  217;  at  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge,  217;  returns  to 
London  to  study  law,  217;  his  pre- 
cocity, 217;  his  \iew  of  his  profes- 
sion, 218;  his  ideals,  218;  his  materi- 
alism, 219;   enters  Parliament,  219; 

.  his  attitude  to  politics,  220;  his 
scheme  of  life,  220;  influence  of 
Macchiavelli,  221 ;  his  precepts,  221 ; 
relations  with  the  Earl  of  Essex,  222; 
fails  tc  obtain  post  of  Attorney- 
General,  222;  compensated  by 
Essex,  222;  disappointments,  223; 
his  advice  to  Essex  on  Ireland,  223; 
his  prosecution  of  Essex,  224;  his 
perfidy,  224-5;  seeks  favour  of 
James  i.,  225;  advises  James  i., 
226;  recommends  union  of  England 
and  Scotland,  226;  literary  occupa- 
tions, 227;  Essays  1597,  228;  Ad- 
vaticcmcnt  of  Learning  1603,  228; 
marriage,  229;  at  Gorhambury, 
229;  SohVitor-General  1607,  230; 
Attorney-General  1613,  230;  his 
political  fickleness,  230;  seeks  the 


324 


GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 


favour  of  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, 231;  Lord  Keeper,  231;  raised 
to  peerage  as  Baron  Verulam,  231; 
Lord  High  ChanceUor,  232;  Vis- 
count St.  Alban,  232;  his  judicial 
work,  232;  the  Novum  Organum, 
233;  unpopularity  with  Parliament, 
233;  charged  with  corruption,  234; 
his  collapse,  234;  confession,  235; 
dismissal  from  post  of  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, 235;  his  punishment  and  re- 
tirement to  St.  Albans,  235;  literary 
and  scientific  occupations,  235; 
wTites  history  of  Henry  vii.,  235; 
his  Natural  History,  236;  his  De 
Augmentis  Scierdiarum,  236;  his 
hope  of  restitution,  236;  his  death  at 
Highgate,  236;  his  experiments  in 
refrigeration,  237  and  n.;  his  burial 
and  monument,  237;  his  character, 
238;  his  neglect  of  morals,  239;  his 
want  of  savcdr  faire,  239;  his  true 
greatness,  240;  his  literary  versa- 
tility, 240;  his  reverence  for  Latin, 
240;  his  contempt  for  English,  241; 
the  style  of  his  Essays,  241;  his 
views  in  the  Essays,  241;  his  pithy 
terseness,  242;  his  majestic  style, 
242;  Shelley's  criticism,  243;  his 
verse,  243;  philosophic  works.  Ad- 
vancement of  Learning  and  Novum 
Organum,  245;  his  attitude  to 
science,  245 ;  opposition  to  Aristotle, 
246;  on  induction,  246;  his  doctrine 
of  idols,  247;  the  dry  light  of  reason, 
248;  limitless  possibilities  of  man's 
knowledge,  249;  his  work  frag- 
mentary, 249;  ignorance  of  contem- 
porary science,  249;  his  own  dis- 
coveries, 250;  his  place  in  the  history 
of  science,  250;  his  Neiv  Atlantis, 
251;  his  final  message,  255;  cf.  also 
1,  3,  6,  15,  61  (views  on  colonisa- 
tion), 157,  287. 
Bacon,    Francis,    Works:    Advance- 


m£nt  of  Learning,  221,  228,  236, 
243,  245  (De  Augmerdis  Scierdi- 
arum, 236,  245);  Certaine  Psalmes, 
244;  Essays,  227,  241,  242;  Henry 
VII.,  Reign  of,  235;  Historia  Na- 
turalis  et  ExperiTnerdalis  ad  Con- 
dendam  Philosophiam,  236;  Medi- 
tationes  Sacrae,  1;  New  Atlantis, 
251;  its  objects,  251;  the  story,  252; 
the  imaginary  college  of  science  and 
its  work,  253;  the  Fellows,  254;  its 
aspirations,  255;  prospect  of  reahs- 
ing  the  ideal,  255;  Novum  Organ- 
um, 228,  233,  245;  PaHis  Secundce 
Delineatio,  247  n.;  Valerius  Ter- 
minus, 247  n. 

Bacon,  Sir  Nicholas,  father  of  Francis 
Bacon,  216. 

Barf,  Jean  Antoine  de,  308. 

Bandello,  305. 

Barton,  EUzabeth  (the  Maid  of  Kent), 
denounces  Henry  viii.'s  divorce, 
48;  relations  with  More,  49. 

Basse,  William,  elegy  to  Shakespeare, 
279. 

Beaumont,  Francis,  194,  279. 

Sir  John,  245  n. 

Behng  or  Bellings,  Richard,  102. 

Bellay,  Joachim  du,  79,  161,  184,  196, 
309;  his  Olive,  309  n. 

Belleforest,  his  Histoires  Tragiques, 
295. 

Bembo,  Cardinal  Pietro,  278  n. 

Ben  Salem,  252. 

Bible,  The,  its  literary  influence,  13; 
translations,  13,  14. 

Bion,  167. 

Blackfriars,  275. 

Blackwater,  Battle  of,  191. 

Boccaccio,  304. 

Boleyn,  Anne,  40,  48;  her  triumph,  50. 

Boyle,  James,  183. 

EUzabeth,  184. 

Richard  (Earl  of  Cork),  183. 

Brazil,  30. 


INDEX 


325 


Britomart,  199. 

Bruges,  27. 

Bruno  Giordano;  visit  to  England,  88. 

Brussels,  Ti. 

Brutus,  315. 

Bryskett,  Lodowick,  174,  184  n. 

Buckingham,  George  Villiers,  Duke 

of,  231. 
Bucklersbury,  More's  house  in,  26. 
Budleigh  Salterton,  124. 
Bullen,  A.  H.,  his  edition  of  Campion's 

Poems,  244  n. 
Bulmar,  Master,  139  n. 
Bunyan,  John,  202,  213. 
Burbage,    Richard,    actor,   266;    his 

presentation  of  Richard  III.,  266. 
Burckhardt's  Civilisation  of  the  Period 

of  the  Renaissance  in  Italy,  1. 
Burghley,  William  Cecil,  Lord,  69,  84, 

204,  217,  219. 
Burns,  Robert,  213,  289. 
Byron,  Lord,  213. 

Cabot,  John,  119. 

Csesar,  315. 

Caliban,  316. 

Calidore,  Sir,  199. 

Cambell,  199. 

Cambridge  Modern  History,  1. 

Camden,   WiUiam,   Annates   quoted, 

131. 
Campbell,  Thomas,  213. 
Campion,  Thomas,  his  Poems,  244  n. 
Canterbury  Hall,  O.xford,  20. 
Carolina,  North,  128. 
Casimir,  Prince  John,  104. 
Catherine,  Queen  of  Aragon,  wife  of 

Henry  VIII.,  40;  question  of  divorce, 

40-42,  48;  divorced,  51. 
Cato,  More  compared  with,  58. 
Caxton,  William,  introduced  printing 

into  England,  18,  19. 
Cecil,  Sir  Robert,  142. 
Cervantes,  288,  318. 
Chapman,  George,  308. 


Charles  i.,  229,  236. 

Charles  v.  of  Spain,  40;  view  of  More's 
death,  58. 

Chartley  Ca.stle,  77. 

Chaucer,  94,  171,  193,  209,  279. 

Chelsea,  More's  house  at,  26;  visited 
by  Henry  VIII.,  38. 

Childe  Harold,  213. 

Christ  Church,  Oxford,  20,  67. 

Church,  Dean,  his  Life  of  Spenser, 
155. 

Cicero,  196,  292. 

Cinthio,  Giraldi,  his  Hecaiommithi, 
295,  304,  305. 

Cleopatra,  315,  317. 

Colet,  John,  22. 

Coligny,  129. 

Colin,  168. 

College  of  Arms,  274  n. 

Collier,  J.  P.,  joint-editor  of  Shake- 
speare^s  Library,  285. 

Collins,  IVIr.  Churton,  his  edition  of 
Utopia,  17;  his  Shakespearean  Stud- 
ies, 285. 

Colte,  Jane,  26. 

Columbus,  10,  118. 

Comines,  Philippe  de,  97. 

Condel,  Henry,  281. 

Cook,  Prof.  A.  S.,  his  edition  of  Sid- 
ney's Apologie  for  Poetrie,  63;  of 
Shelley's  Defence  of  Poetry,  243  n. 

Copernicus,  10;  his  system,  250. 

Cork,  126. 

Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  213. 

Cowley,  Abraham,  212. 

Cowper,  William,  114. 

Cranmer,  Thomas,  tests  More's  loy- 
alty, 51. 

Crashaw,  Richard,  160. 

Crates,  245  n. 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  Carlyle's  Letters 
arul  Speeches  of,  153. 

Richard,  14,  153. 

Thomas,  Henry  viii.'s  minister, 

prosecutes  More,  49,  50,  54. 


326 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


Daniel,  Samuel,  184,  209,  308. 
Dante,  78,  243  n.;  Divina  Commedia, 

196. 
Davies,  Sir  John,  244  n. 
Demetrius,  146. 
Denmark,  dramatic  performances  in, 

297. 
Desportes,  Philippe,  184. 
Devereux,     Penelope,     77;     married 

Lord  Rich,  106. 
Diana  Inamorada,  Montemayor's,  98. 
Dictionary  of  National  Biography,  1. 
Dimoke,  Master,  140. 
Discovery  of  Guiana,  116,  139,  140. 
Donne,  John,  245  n. 
Don  Quixote,  99. 
Dorset,  Anne    Clifford,  Coimtess  of, 

194. 
Drake,  Sir  Francis,  123,  129. 
Drama,  Sidney's  attitude  to  the,  89. 
Drayton,  Michael,  103,  121,  172,  194. 
Dryden,  John,  213. 
Duessa,  187,  203. 
Dudley,  Robert.     See  Leicester. 
Dulwich,  274. 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  the  elder,  286. 
Dyer,  Sir  Edward,  86. 

Eastward  Ho!,  122. 

Edward  vi.,  65. 

Edwards,  Edward,  his  Life  of  Ralegh, 
116. 

Egidius.    See  svb  Giles. 

Egypt,  146. 

Elissa,  199. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  66, 156, 158,  201. 

Elizabethan  Sonnets,  in  the  English 
Garner,  63,  285. 

El  Dorado,  137. 

England,  sixteenth  century,  1-16  pas- 
sim; its  transitional  aspect,  7;  the 
ethical  paradox  of  the  era,  14;  mix- 
ture of  good  and  evil,  14;  major 
paradox  of  More,  Bacon,  and 
Ralegh,  15;  minor  paradox  of  Sid- 


ney, Spenser,  and  Shakespeare,  15; 

Shakespeare's  eulogies  of,  287  (see 

also  svb  Renaissance). 
Epaminondas,  146. 
Erasmus,  Epistolae  quoted,  17,  18,  23- 

25;  his  reputation  in  Europe,  23; 

his    character,     24;    his    religious 

moderation,    24;    friendship    with 

More,   25;  letter  from  More,   43; 

advice  to  More  on  theology,   48; 

account  of  More  at  Chelsea,  59. 
Essex,  Countess  of,  married  to  Earl  of 

Leicester,  95. 
Robert  Devereux,   2d  Earl   of, 

77,  142,  187,  192,  222  seq. 

Walter   Devereux,   1st  Earl  of, 

^  77,  84. 

Etienne  or  Stephens,  Henri,  75. 

Euripides,  Andromache,  293. 

Europe,  Western,  8-9  seq. 

Evans,  Sir  Hugh,  quotes  Latin,  295. 

Eve  of  St  Agnes,  213. 

Falstaff,  271,  291. 

Farmer,  Dr.,  his  Essay  on  Shake- 
speare's Learning,  294. 

Farnaby,  Thomas,  his  Florilegium 
Epigrammaticum  Groecorum,  245  n. 

Faustus,  Marlowe's,  4. 

Fayal,  147. 

Ferdinand  of  Spain,  118. 

(in  Shakespeare's  Tempest),  314. 

Fisher,  John,  Bishop  of  Rochester, 
imprisoned,  52;  executed,  55. 

Flanders,  supposed  visit  of  Shake- 
speare to,  299. 

Flemings,  27. 

Fletcher,  Phineas,  192;  his  Purple 
Island,  212. 

Florida,  128. 

Fox-Bourne,  Mr.  H.  R.,  his  Life  of 
Sidney,  63. 

France,  Renaissance  in,  3;  English 
actors  in,  297. 

Frankfort,  Sidney  at,  72. 


INDEX 


327 


Frio,  Cape,  30. 

Friswell,  J.  H.,  his  abridged  edition  of 

Arcadia,  63. 
Froben  of  Basle,  published  Utopia,  33. 
Froude,  J.  A.,  his  summary  of  Erasmi 

Epistolae,  17. 
Fuller,  Thomas,  127. 
Furnivall,  F.  J.,  Fresh  AUtisions  to 

Shakspere,  256. 

Galileo,  88,  250,  288. 

Gama,  Vasco  da,  10. 

Germany,  the  Renaissance  in,  3,  33; 

English  actors  in,  297. 
Gerusalemme  Liberata,  Tasso's,  196. 
Gifford,  Captain,  140. 
Gilbert,    Sir    Humphrey,    106,    123; 

death,  127. 
Gilbert,  Otho,  123. 
Gilbert,   William,   his  researches  in 

magnetism,  249. 
Giles,  Peter,  or  Egidius,  28,  29. 
Giovanni,     Ser     Fiorentino,    his    II 

Pecorone,  295,  305. 
Giulio,  Romano,  307. 
Goethe,  285. 
Golding,  Arthur,  translator  of  Ovid, 

296. 
Goodwin,  Hugh,  140. 
Gorhambury,  near  St.  Albans,  229. 
Gosson,  Stephen,  his  School  of  Abuse, 

91. 
Gray,  Thomas,  poet,  160, 196. 
Greece,  literature  of,  8-9;  mythology 

and  history  of,  in  Shakespeare,  301. 
Greene,  Robert,  312. 
Greenwich  Palace,  267. 
Grenville,  Sir  Richard,  129. 
Greville,  Fulke,  Lord  Brooke,  67-68, 

82,  88;  his  Life  of  Sidney,  63. 
Grey,  Lord  Arthur,  of  Wilton,  174, 

204. 
Grey,  Lady  Jane,  65. 
Grimald,  Nicolas,  245. 
Grocyn,  William,  22. 


Grosart,  Dr.,  his  edition  of  Spenser, 

155. 
Guiana,  137. 
Guicciardini,  97. 
Guyon,  Sir,  199. 

Hales,  Prof.  J.  W.,  his  memoir  of 
Spenser,  155. 

Hall,  Elizabeth,  Shakespeare's  grand- 
daughter, 276. 

John,  276. 

Mrs.     Susanna,     Shakespeare's 

eldest  daughter,  276. 

William,  276. 

Halliwell-Phillipps,  J.  O.,  his  Outlines 
of  the  Life  of  Shakespeare,  256. 

Hamlet,  315. 

Hannah,  J.,  D.C.L.,  his  Poems  of 
Ralegh,  etc.,  116. 

Harington,  Sir  John,  74;  translation  of 
Ariosto,  305. 

Harrington,  Henry,  245  n. 

Harv-ey,  Gabriel,  his  view  of  Arcadia, 
91;cf.  161,  163,  169. 

William,   discovered   circulation 

of  the  blood,  249. 

Hazlitt,  W.  C,  joint-editor  of  Shake- 
speare's Library,  285. 

Heidelberg,  Sidney  at,  82. 

Heliodorus,  98. 

Heming,  John,  281. 

Henry  v.,  314. 

VII.,    his    victory    at  Bosworth 

Field,  18. 

VIII.,  18;  his  attitude  to  the  new 

Learning,  38;  to  the  Reformation, 
40;  his  wish  for  divorce,  40;  his 
supreme  power,  41;  his  attitude  to 
Luther  and  the  Pope,  42;  his  power 
over  Parliament,  42;  opposed  by 
More,  42;  denounced  by  tlie  Maid  of 
Kent,  48;  Act  of  Succession,  52; 
Supreme  Head  of  the  Church,  54; 
cf.  65. 

Prince  of  Wales,  148. 


328 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


Herbert,  George,  244. 

Herodotus,  166. 

Heron,  Giles,  More's  son-in-law,  45. 

History  of  the  World.     See  sub  Ralegh. 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  237  n. 

Holbein,     Hans,     illustrates    More's 

Utopia,  33;  friendship  with  More, 

59. 
Holinshed's  Chronicles,  272. 
Holland,  EngUsh  actors  in,  297. 
Holofernes,  quotes  Latin  from  Lily, 

295. 
Homer,  5,  179,  195,  196;  Iliad  and 

Odyssey,  195. 
Horace,  292. 
Horatio,  316. 

Howard,  Lord,  of  Effingham,  142. 
Hugo,  Victor,  286. 
Huguenots,  the,  125. 
Hutton,  Rev.  W.  H.,  B.D..  More's 

biography,  17. 
Hyperion,  Shakespeare's  scansion  of, 

296. 
Hythlodaye,  Raphael,  29. 

Immerito,  Edmund  Spenser,  169. 

Ingenioso,  193. 

Ireland,  Sidney's  views  on,  84. 

Isabella  of  Spain,  118. 

Ingleby,  C.  M.,  256. 

Italy,  Renaissance  in,  3. 

towns    of:— Florence,    18,    303; 

supposed  visit  of  Shakespeare  to, 
299.  Mantua,  299-304.  Milan, 
299-304.  Padua,  Pisa,  Venice, 
299-304.  Verona,  299-304;  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  Shakespeare, 
303. 

James  l,  143, 156, 187. 
Jamyn,  Amadis,  309. 
Java,  123. 
Jezebel,  146. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  207. 


Jonson,  Ben,  his  praise  of  Shake- 
speare, 269;  compared  with  Shake- 
speare, 270;  his  Catiline's  Con- 
spiracy, 270;  elegy  on  Shakespeare, 
280;  Poetaster,  285;  cf.  136, 194,  258, 
262,  296. 

Juhet,  316. 

Kalendrier  des  Bergers,  168. 
Keats,  John,  115,  213,  289,  296. 
Kemp,  William,  comic  actor,  266;  his 

presentation  of  Peter  in  Romeo  and 

Juliet,  266. 
Kenilworth,  76. 

Kenilworth,  Sir  Walter  Scott's,  127  n. 
Kepler,  John,  249. 
Kilcolman,  176. 
Kirke,  Edward,  161, 169. 

Lamb,  Charles,  212. 

Languet,  Hubert,  72. 

Laura,  mistress  of  Petrarch,  79. 

Leicester,  Robert  Dudley,    Earl    of, 

67,  163,  297. 
Leonora,  Tasso's  three  benefactresses 

of  that  name,  184  n. 
Lily,  William,  22,  292,  295. 
Linacre,  Thomas,  22. 
Lismore,  126. 
Livy,  97. 

Lodge,  Thomas,  308. 
Lou  vain,  33. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  his  criticism  of 

Spenser,  155. 
Lucian,  31. 
Ludlow  Castle,  67. 
Luther,  Martin,  18;  his  revolution,  35, 

41;  attacked  by  More,  48. 

Macaulay,  his  criticism  of  the  Faerie 

Queene,  200. 
Macchiavelli,  71,  221. 
Macedonia,  146. 
Mackail,  J,  W.,  his  Greek  Anthology » 

245  n. 


INDEX 


329 


Markham,  Gervase,  102. 

Marlowe,  Christopher,  4,  135,  258. 

Marot,  Clement,  161,  168. 184. 

Mantuanus,  Baptista,  168,  170,  292. 

Mary,  Queen  of  England,  66,  158. 

Queen  of  Scots,  187,  204. 

Massinger,  Philip,  262. 

Mathews,  Sir  Tobie,  237  n. 

Meautys,  Sir  Thomas,  238. 

Medina,  199. 

Merchant  Taylors'  School,  159,  258. 

'Mermaid'  Tavern,  the,  136. 

Michael  Angelo,  288,  307. 

Milton,  John,  101,  196,  213,  214,  243 
n.,  280,  289;  Paradise  Lost  and 
Paradise  Regained,  196. 

Minturno,  the  influence  of  his  'De 
Poeta'  on  Sidney,  92. 

Mommsen,  Theodor,  315. 

Montaigne,  Miguel  de,  310,  318,  319, 
320. 

Montaigne  and  Shakespeare,  by  Mr.  J. 
M.  Robertson,  285. 

Montemayor,  George  de,  his  Diana 
Inamorada,  98. 

More,  Cresacre,  his  Life  of  Sir  Thomas 
More,  17. 

Sir  John,  father  of  Sir  Thomas 

More,  as  judge,  40. 

Sir  Thomas,  his  birth,   17;  his 

contemporaries,  18;  his  father,  19; 
at  St.  Anthony's  School,  20;  in  the 
service  of  Cardinal  Morton,  20;  his 
wit,  20;  enters  Canterbury  Hall, 
Oxford,  20;  the  influence  of  Oxford, 
21;  studies  Latin  and  Greek,  21; 
studies  law  in  London,  22;  becomes 
acquainted  with  Colet,  Linacre, 
Grocyn,  Lyly,  22;  reads  works  of 
Pico  della  Mirandola  and  of  the 
humanists  of  Italy,  22;  first  meets 
Erasmus,  23-25;  enters  Parliament 
and  denounces  Henry  vii.'s  taxa- 
tion of  the  people,  25;  marries  Jane 
Colte,  25;  acquires  house  in  Buck- 


lersbury,  26;  marries  again,  26; 
settles  at  Chelsea,  26;  Under- 
Sheriff  of  London,  27;  represents 
Ixjndon's  commercial  interests  with 
the  Flemings,  27;  first  visits  the  Con- 
tinent, 27;  visits  Bruges,  Brussels, 
and  Antwerp,  27;  meets  Peter  Giles 
(Egidius)  at  Antwerp,  whence  he 
derives  inspiration  for  his  Utopia, 
28;  Utopia  published  (1516),  28; 
contrast  between  More's  theory  and 
practice,  34;  his  attitude  to  Lutheran 
and  Papal  principles,  35,  36;  be- 
comes a  Master  of  Requests  or  Ex- 
aminer of  Petitions,  36;  resides  at 
Court,  36;  his  attitude  to  politics, 
37;  his  loyalty,  38;  his  popularity 
with  the  King,  38;  knighted  1521, 
39;  sub-Treasurer  of  the  King's 
household,  39;  Speaker  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  39;  Chancellor 
of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster  1525, 39; 
his  humility,  39;  Lord  Chancellor 
1529,  39;  More  and  his  father  as 
judges,  40;  his  opposition  to  the 
King's  divorce,  41;  resigned  the 
Chancellorship  1532,  43;  writes  to 
Erasmus  on  the  subject,  43;  his 
economy,  44;  his  Chelsea  tomb,  45; 
his  work  as  Chancellor,  45;  his  im- 
partiality, 45;  accessibility,  46;  his 
judicial  conduct  censured,  46;  his 
religious  bias,  46;  in  retirement,  47; 
attacks  Tyndale.  47;  More  and  the 
Maid  of  Kent,  48,  49;  refuses  to  sub- 
scribe to  the  oath,  51;  abjuring  the 
Pope,  51;  committed  to  the  Tower, 
52;  his  resignation  to  his  fate,  53; 
his  correspondence,  54;  refuses  to 
accept  the  King's  supremacy  of  the 
Church,  54;  his  trial  1535,  55;  sen- 
tenced to  death,  55;  his  farewell  to 
his  daughter,  55;  executed  on  Tower 
Hill,  56;  his  grim  jest,  56;  burial, 
57;  his  character  and  mode  of  life. 


S30 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


58;  his  love  of  art,  59;  his  friend- 
ship with  Holbein,  59;  his  Latin 
writing,  59;  his  English  poetry,  59; 
his  English  prose,  60;  his  hterary 
repute  abroad,  61;  the  inconsistency 
of  his  theory  and  practice,  62;  see 
also  3,  6,  12,  15,  63,  64,  119,  158, 
159, 216. 
More,  Sir  Thomas,  "Works: 

Utopia,  28  seq.;  contents  of,  28  seq.; 
the  first  book  and  the  ideal  of  the 
New  World,  29;  the  second  book, 
31 ;  care  of  the  mind,  31 ;  contempt 
for  precious  metals,  31;  Utopian 
philosophy,  32;  religion,  32;  wTit- 
ten  in  Latin,  33;  a  dream  of  fancy 
in  contrast  to  More's  practice,  33, 
34;  English  translation  of,  59;  cf. 
3,  15,  83,  120,  252. 
History  of  Richard  III.,  60;  his  Life 
of  Pico,  60;  his  controversial  theol- 
ogy, 60;  devotional  treatises,  61. 
Mornay,  Philippe  de,  89. 
Morton,  John,  Cardinal,  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  takes  More  into  his 
service,  20;  probable  author  of  His- 
tory of  Richard  HI.,  60. 
Mulcaster,  Richard,  159. 
Munster,  126,  127. 

Napier,  John,  inventor  of  logarithms, 

249. 
Nestor,  Shakespeare  likened  to,  277, 

301. 
NcTN-foundland,  127-128. 
New  Place,  273. 
Norfolk,     Thomas     Howard,     third 

Duke  of,  50. 
Norreys,  Sir  Thomas,  192. 
Northumberland,  John  Dudley,  Duke 

of,  65. 
Duchess  of,  Sidney's  godmother, 

66. 

Orinoco,  river,  137. 

Orlando  Furioso,  179,  196,  305. 


OtheUo,  316. 

0\id,  173,  292;  his  Metamorphoses, 

295;  quoted  by  Shakespeare,  302. 
Oxford,  More  at,  20,  21;   Sidney  at, 

68;  and  the  Renaissance,  21. 
Edward  de  Vere,  Earl   of,    70; 

his  quarrel  with  Sidney,  95. 

Pacific  Sea,  252. 

Palmer,  Master,  140. 

Pamela,  100;  Richardson's,  114. 

Panama,  123. 

Paris,  33;  Sidney  in,  71. 

Pater,  Walter,  The  Renaissance,  1. 

Pecorone,  II,  305. 

Pembroke,  Countess  of,  96,  101. 

Penshurst,  Sidney's  birthplace,  65. 

Perissa,  199. 

Persia,  146. 

Peru,  205,  252. 

Petrarch,  73,  78,  161, 184, 196,  306. 

Philip  n.  of  Spain,  66. 

Phillipps,  Augustine,  actor,  274  n. 

Sir  William,  274  n. 

Pico  della  Mirandola,  22-23;  More's 

Life  of,  60. 
Pierces    Supererogation,    etc.,   97   n., 

114  n. 
Pilgrimage  to  Parnassus,  193. 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  202. 
Pindar,  92. 

Plato,  22,  29,  92, 159, 198,  243  n.,  247. 
Plautus,  292,  296,  303. 
Pleiade,  La,  86,  308. 
Plinius,  Caius,  the  elder,  237  n. 
Plutarch,  315;  North's  translation  of 

Lives,  272,  291,  312. 
Poland,    Sidney    candidate    for    the 

throne  of,  75. 
Pollard,  A.  W.,  editor  of  Astrophel  and 

Stella,  63. 
Ponsonby,  William,  178,  182. 
Pope,  Thomas,  actor,  274  n. 
Posidippus,  245. 
Prague,  Sidney  at,  82. 


INDEX 


331 


Protestantism  and  the   Renaissance, 

12. 
Ptolemy,  250. 

Puritanism  and  the  drama,  90. 
Purple  Island,  Fletcher's,  192,  212. 
Puttenham's  Arte  of  English  Pocsie, 

245. 
Pyrrhus,  146. 

QuiNEY,  Judith,  Shakespeare's 
youngest  daughter,  276. 

Rabelais,  310. 

Ralegh,  Sir  Walter,  Bibliography,  116; 
his  versatility,  123;  his  home,  123; 
at  Oxford,  124;  studies  law  in  Lon- 
don, 124;  in  France,  125;  in  the 
Netherlands,  125;  goes  to  West 
Indies,  125;  in  Ireland,  126;  plans 
expedition  to  North  America,  127; 
story  of  his  cloak,  127;  detained  by 
Queen  Elizabeth,  128;  his  relations 
with  Virginia,  128-130;  planted  the 
potato  in  Ireland,  130;  introduces 
tobacco-smoking,  130;  serv^es  against 
Spanish  Armada,  133;  his  desire  of 
gain,  133;  his  intellectual  interests, 
134;  friendship  with  Spenser,  134; 
his  poetry,  135;  meetings  at  the 
'Mermaid,'  136;  goes  to  Guiana, 
137;  hardships,  318;  his  Discovery 
of  Guiana,  139,  140;  returns  home, 
141;  joins  in  expeditions  to  Cadiz 
and  the  Azores,  141;  his  mar- 
riage, 141;  his  unpopularity  at 
Court,  142;  charged  with  treason, 
143;  sentenced  to  death  and  res- 
pited, 144;  imprisoned  in  Tower, 
144;  his  scientific  curiosity,  145; 
his  History  of  the  World,  145;  cen- 
sure of  Henry  viii.,  146;  his  criti- 
cism of  current  events,  147;  his 
moral  purpose,  147;  hopes  of  free- 
dom, 148;  released,  149;  return  to 
Guiana,  150;  failure  of  the  expedi- 


tion, 150;  his  disgrace  and  execu- 
tion, 150;  his  apostrophe  on  death, 
151;    the    contemporary    estimate, 
152;  his  character,  152;  his  failure 
and  success,  153;  the  true  founder  of 
Virginia,  153;  cf.  also  6-14,  15,  107, 
156,  177,  180,  182,  226,  258,  283. 
Ralegh,  Sir  Walter,  Works: 
Discovery  of  Guiana,  116. 
History  of  ttie  World,  15,  259,  283. 
Raphael,  278  n. 
Rawley,  Dr.  William,  Bacon's  chap* 

lain,  228  n.,  229  n. 
Red  Cross,  Knight  of  the,  199. 

ReliquioB  Wottonianas,  245  n. 

Renaissance,  The,  1-15  passim;  in 
Europe,  3;  its  unity,  3;  its  results  in 
England,  3;  the  quest  for  knowl- 
edge, 4;  width  of  outlook,  4;  versa- 
tihty,  5 ;  the  mental  energy,  5 ;  great 
Enghshmen  of  the  epoch,  6;  its 
causes,  7;  intellectual  revelation,  8; 
discovery  of  ancient  Greek  litera- 
ture, 8;  Itahan  influence,  9;  the 
physical  revelation,  9;  maritime  dis- 
coveries, 9;  discovery  of  solar  system, 
10;  expansion  of  thought,  10;  inven- 
tion of  printing,  11;  the  Renais- 
sance and  the  Church  of  Rome,  1 1 ; 
the  Protestant  compromise,  12;  liter- 
ary influence  of  the  Bible,  13;  the 
Enghsh  products  of  the  Renais- 
sance, 14-15;  Shakespeare  the 
climax,  16;  in  England,  17-18. 

Renaissance  in  Italy,  by  Symonds,  1. 

Renaissance,  The,  by  Pater,  1. 

Return  from  Parnassus,  155,  192. 

Reynolds,  Samuel  Harvey,  his  edition 
of  Bacon's  Essays,  214. 

Rich,  Lady.  See  svb  Devereux, 
Penelope. 

Lord,  106. 

RicJmrd  III.,  History  of,  60. 

Rinaldo,  179. 

Roanoke,  128. 


S32 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


Robertson,  Mr.  J.  M.,  his  Montaigne 
and  Shakespeare,  285. 

Rome,  the  Church  of,  and  the  Renais- 
sance, 12. 

Romeo,  314. 

Ronsard,  Pierre,  71,  79,  308,  318; 
Amours,  310  n. 

Roper,  Margaret,  54,  55,  57. 

Wilham,  More's  son-in-law,  his 

Life  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  17;  ac- 
count of  More's  death,  55. 

'Salomon's  house,'  253. 

St.  Bartholomew's  Day,  72. 

St.  Thome,  150. 

Sanazzaro,  98,  168. 

Scaliger,  Julius  Csesar,  influence  of  his 
Poetice  on  Sidney,  92. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  his  Kenilworth, 
127  n. 

Scudamore,  Sir,  203. 

Seebohm,  Mr.  Frederic,  his  Oxford 
Reformers,  17. 

Seneca,  58,  292. 

Sententiae  Pueriles,  292,  295. 

Shakespeare,  John,  father  of  William, 
257;  probably  at  Kenilworth,  76. 

Will[iam],  volunteer,  297. 

William,  Bibliography,  256;  par- 
entage, birth,  and  baptism,  257; 
education,  257;  compared  with  that 
of  his  contemporaries,  258;  his  self- 
training,  258;  his  youth,  259;  his 
marriage,  259;  visits  London,  259; 
his  genius,  260;  association  with 
London  and  the  theatre,  260;  a 
theatre  call-boy,  261;  the  period  of 
probation,  261;  his  use  of  law 
terms,  262;  comparison  with  con- 
temporaries, 262;  his  early  plays. 
Love's  Labour's  Lost  and  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  265;  has  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton as  patron,  265;  as  actor, 
266;  acts  before  Queen  Elizabeth  at 
Greenwich  Palace,  267;  his  gallant 


reference  to  the  Queen  in  A  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,  268;  wins 
James  i.'s  favour,  268;  his  plays  per- 
formed at  Whitehall,  268;  the  favour 
of  the  crowd,  269;  praised  by  Ben 
Jonson,  269;  his  success,  269;  com- 
pared with  Ben  Jonson,  270;  univer- 
sality of  appeal,  270;  the  progressive 
quality  of  his  work,  271;  his  prac- 
tical handhng  of  affairs,  271;  his 
hterary  loans  on  Hohnshed  and 
Plutarch,  272;  returns  to  Stratford, 
272;  purchases  New  Place,  273; 
his  income,  similar  to  that  of  his 
actor  contemporaries,  273;  invests  in 
real  estate  at  Stratford,  273;  his  re- 
tirement from  play-writing,  275 
occasional  visits  to  London,  275 
purchases  house  in  Blackfriars,  275 
takes  part  in  local  affairs,  275;  his 
death,  275;  his  will,  276;  his  burial, 
276;  inscription  on  grave,  276;  his 
monument,  277;  his  elegists — ^Basse, 
Jonson,  Milton,  278-281;  oral  tra- 
dition, 281;  his  autograph,  282;  ab- 
sence of  documentary  material  re- 
lating to  his  life,  283;  foreign  influ- 
ences, 285  seq.;  bibliography,  285; 
his  universal  repute,  286;  in  Ger- 
many, 286;  in  France,  286;  opinions 
of  Victor  Hugo  and  the  elder  Dumas, 
286;  his  patriotism,  286;  his  assim- 
ilative power,  289;  his  learning,  290; 
the  two  \iews,  290;  his  instantaneous 
power  of  perception,  291;  early  in- 
struction in  Latin,  292;  apparent 
ignorance  of  Greek,  293;  parallel- 
isms with  the  Greek  tragedians  acci- 
dental, 293;  knowledge  of  French 
and  Italian,  294;  Latin  and  French 
quotations,  295;  Lily  and  Ovid  fre- 
quently used,  295;  his  lack  of  schol- 
arship, 296;  no  traveller  abroad, 
297;  his  views  of  travel,  298;  imag- 
inative  afiinity   with    Italy,    299; 


INDEX 


333 


geographical  blunders,  299;  internal 
evnciences  of  forei{];n  influence,  300; 
references  to  Greek  mythology  and 
history,  300-1 ;  his  Troilus  and  Cres- 
sida,  301;  to  Roman  History,  301; 
his  Lucrecc,  301;  JuliiLs  Caesar,  302; 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  302;  use  of 
Italian  history  and  literature,  303; 
use  of  the  Italian  novel,  304-;  means 
of  access  to  the  Italian  novel,  304; 
Othello  and  Merchant  of  Venice, 
305;  his  method  of  alteration,  306; 
influence  of  Petrarch,  306;  knowl- 
edge of  Italian  art,  307;  French 
influences,  308-9;  influence  of  Rabe- 
lais and  Montaigne,  310;  alertness  in 
acquiring  foreign  knowledge,  310; 
wide  geographical  outlook,  311; 
geographical  errors,  312;  influence 
of  the  foreign  spirit,  313;  his  uni- 
versahty,  314;  historic  sensibility, 
314;  his  fidelity  to  'atmosphere,' 
315;  width  of  historic  outlook,  316; 
hLs  relation  to  his  era,  317;  his  faith 
in  human  perfection,  318;  his  for- 
eign contemporaries,  318;  his  re- 
semblances to  Montaigne,  318; 
foreign  influences,  320;  cf.  1,  3,  6,  7, 
14,  15,  61,  114,  117,  156.  158,  164, 
194,  215. 
Shakespeare,  William,  Plays  quoted: 
AWs  Well,  304;  Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra, 302,  311,  312;  Comedy  of 
Errors,  Tlie,  267,  296,  303,  304,  311 ; 
Coriolanus,  302,  311;  Cymheline, 
271,  285,  304,  311,  315;  Hamlet,  1, 
293,  312,  315;  Henry  V .,  295; 
Julius  Ccesar,  270,  302,  311,  313, 
314;  King  Lear,  114;  acted  at  Court, 
268;  271,  315;  Love's  Labour's  Lost, 
85,  267;  acted  at  Court,  268;  295, 
304,  312,  317;  Lucrcce,  301;  Mac- 
beth, 315;  Mea.nire  for  Measure, 
304,  306,  312;  Merchant  of  Venice, 
The,  305;  Merry  Wives  uf  Windsor, 


Tfie,  acted  at  Court,  268;  295,  315; 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  A,  76, 
268,  271,  311;  Much  Ado  About 
Nothiufj,  303,  304,  311;  Othello, 
271,  305,  306,  311,  314;  Pericles, 
311;  Romeo  and  Juliet,  303,  314; 
Sonnets,  293,  309;  Taming  of  the 
Shrew,  The,  300;  Tempest,  The, 
271,  295,  299,  310,  320;  Timon  of 
Athens,  311 ;  Titus  Andronicus,  311 ; 
Troilus  and  Cressida,  301,  311; 
Twelfth  Night,  304,  305,  311;  The 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  299,  304; 
Winter's  Tale,  The,  307,  312. 

Shakespeare  and  Classical  Antiquity, 
by  M.  Paul  Stapfer,  285. 

Shakespearean  Studies,  by  Mr.  Chur- 
ton  Collins,  285. 

Shakespeare's  Library,  edited  by  J.  P. 
Collier  and  W.  C.  Hazlitt,  285. 

Plutarch,  edited  by  Prof.  Skeat, 

285. 

Shakspere's  Centurie  of  Prayse,  256. 

Shelley,  Defence  of  Poetry,  92,  243  and 
n.;  his  praise  of  Sidney,  115,  213. 

Shoreditch,  theatre  in,  266. 

Shrewsbury,  school  at,  67. 

Shylock,291. 

Sidney,  Sir  Henry,  father  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  65;  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland, 
77. 

Sir  Philip,  Bibliography,  63;  his 

ancestry,  63;  his  intellectual  ambi- 
tions, 64;  born  at  Penshurst,  65; 
baptism,  66;  his  uncle,  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  67;  lives  at  Ludlow  Cas- 
tle, 67;  at  Shrewsbury  School,  67; 
meets  Fulke  Greville  there,  67,  68; 
his  seriousness,  68;  at  ChristChurch, 
Oxford,  68;  gains  I>ord  Burghley's 
favour,  69;  his  foreign  travel,  70.  71 ; 
in  Paris  at  time  of  the  St.  Bar- 
tholomew massacre,  72;  at  Frank- 
fort meets  the  printer  Wechcl  and 
Languet,    72;    at   Vienna,    73;    in 


334 


GREAT   ENGLISHMEN 


Venice,  73;  meets  Tintoretto  and 
Paolo  Veronese,  73;  his  studious- 
ness,  73,  74;  his  Protestant  zeal,  74; 
diplomatic  employment  in  Vienna, 
74;  meets  Stephens  at  Heidelberg, 
75;  retm-ns  home,  75;  at  Kenilworth 
1576,  76;  visits  Chartley  Castle,  77; 
meets  Penelope  Devereux,  77; 
writes  his  Astrophel  and  Stella,  77; 
his  political  ambitions,  82;  goes  as 
foreign  envoy  to  Heidelberg  and 
Prague,  82;  at  Vienna,  83;  visits 
Prince  of  Orange  at  Antwerp,  83; 
wrote  a  masque,  85;  friendship 
with  Spenser,  86;  the  Shepheards 
Calender  dedicated  to  Sidney,  86; 
member  of  the  'Areopagus,'  86; 
intercourse  with  Bruno,  88;  his  in- 
terest in  the  drama,  89;  godfather 
to  Richard  Tarleton,  90;  his  reply 
to  Gosson's  School  of  Abuse,  the 
Apologie  for  Poetrie,  91 ;  criticism  of 
the  Apologie,  91-95;  quarrels  with 
courtiers  and  with  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, 95;  criticises  Queen's  plan  of 
marrying  the  King  of  France,  96; 
in  retirement  writes  Arcadia,  96; 
reconciled  to  the  Queen,  103; 
steward  to  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
104;  enters  Parliament  for  Kent, 
104;  knighted,  104;  Joint-Master  of 
the  Ordnance,  105;  marriage  with 
Frances  Walsingham,  105;  resides 
at  Barn  Elms,  106;  interest  in  the 
New  World,  106;  grant  of  American 
lands,  107;  his  hostility  to  Spain, 
108;  goes  to  Low  Countries,  109; 
Governor  of  Flushing,  109;  attack 
on  Zutphen,  110;  account  of  his 
death  at  Arnheim,  111;  buried  in 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  112;  national 
mourning,  112;  his  career,  112; 
hterary  work,  113;  influence  of  his 
Arcadia,  114;  the  'Marcellus'  of 
England,  115;  Shelley's  praise,  115; 


of.  also  5,  6,  15,  121, 156,  166,  175, 
184. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  Works: 

Apologie  for  Poetrie,  edited  by  Prof. 
A,  Su  Cook,  63;  its  freedom  from 
pedantry,  92;  its  view  of  poetry, 
92;  confusion  between  poetry  and 
prose,      93;      misunderstandings 
about  English  poetry,  94;  its  en- 
lightened conclusions,  94;  cf.  166. 
Arcadia,  edited  by  J.  H.  Friswell, 
63;  foreign  models,  97;  criticism 
of  Gabriel  Harvey,  97;  pastoral 
and   chivalry   mingled,   99;    the 
story,    99-100;    its   complex   in- 
trigue, 100;  incoherence  of  plot, 
100;   the   introduction  of  verse, 
102;   the  verse  and  its  metres, 
102;  the  prose  style,  103. 
Astrophel  and  Stella,  edited  by  A. 
W.  Pollard,   63;   its  Petrarchan 
vein  and  Platonic  idealism,  80;  its 
metre,  81;  its  publication,  81;  its 
influence,  81. 
Lady  of  the  May,  85. 
Skeat,  Prof.,  his  Shakespeare's  Plu- 
tarch, 285. 
Smith,  Captain  John,  131-133. 

Lucy  Toulmin,  256. 

William,  274. 

Smitterfield,  257. 

Socrates,  More  compared  with,  58; 

Shakespeare  compared  with,  277. 
Sophocles,  his  Electra,  293. 
Southampton,     Henry     Wriothesley, 

Earl  of,  164,  265. 
Southwark,  274. 
Spain,  Renaissance  in,  3. 
Sparrow,  Francis,  140. 
Spedding,  James,  his  Bacon's  Life  and 
Letters,  214;  his  edition  of  Bacon's 
Works,  214. 
Spenser,  Edmund,  Bibliography,  155; 
his  career,  156;  his  views  of  poetry, 
156;  his  poetic  zeal  and  worldly 


INDEX 


335 


struggles,  157;  his  birth,  158;  birth- 
place, 158;  compeared  with  Shake- 
speare's career,  158;  his  youth,  159; 
at  Merchant  Taylors'  School,  159; 
at  Pembroke  Hall,  Cambridge,  100; 
his  college  friends,  160;  relations 
with  Gabriel  Harvey,  161;  translates 
poems  by  Du  Bellay  and  Clement 
Marot,  161;  his  degree,  162;  his 
love  for  Cambridge,  162;  in  Lanca- 
shire, 162;  his  love-affairs,  162; 
settlement  in  London,  163;  in  the 
service  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  163; 
secretarial  work,  164;  visited  Ire- 
land, France,  Spain,  Italy,  Rome, 
164;  meets  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  165; 
attempts  classical  metres  in  poetry, 
165;  his  experiments,  166;  writes 
The  English  Poet,  166;  contem- 
plates Faerie  Queene,  167;  his  Shep- 
heards  Calender,  167;  neglected  by 
his  patron,  172;  writes  Virgil's  Gnat, 
172;  secretary  to  the  Lord  Deputy  of 
Ireland,  173;  migrates  to  Ireland, 
173;  early  friends  in  Ireland,  174; 
meets  Lodowick  Bryskett,  174; 
continues  Faerie  Queene,  175;  his 
Astrophel,  175;  removes  to  the  south 
of  Ireland,  176;  made  clerk  of  the 
Council  of  Munster,  176;  resides  at 
Kilcolman,  176;  quarrels  with  his 
neighbours,  176;  meets  Sir  Walter 
Ralegh,  177;  his  eulogy  of  Ralegh, 
177;  revisits  London  and  publishes 
Faerie  Queene  (bks.  i.-iii.),  178; 
granted  a  pension,  180;  return  to 
Ireland,  181;  his  despair  of  his 
fortunes,  181;  his  Colin  Clovts  come 
home  againe,lH'i\  his Ruines  of  Time, 
182;  his  Complaints,  182;  Muiopot- 
mos,  182;  his  marriage,  183;  his 
Amoretti,  184;  his  Epithalamion, 
185;  continues  his  Faerie  Qveene 
(bks.  iv.-vi.),  186;  political  diflicul- 
ties,   187;  visits  Queen's  palace  at 


Greenwich,  187;  guest  of  Earl  of 
Essex,  187;  his  Protfmlamion,  187; 
his  tract,  A  View  of  the  Present  State 
of  Ireland,  188;  Sheriff  of  Cork,  190; 
his  house  at  Kilcolman  burnt  by 
Irish  rebels,  191;  he  flees  to  Cork, 
191;  sent  to  London,  192;  dies  in 
poverty  at  Westminster,  192;  burie<] 
in  Westminster  Abl>ey,  192;  the 
Poets'  Comer,  193;  his  tomb,  194; 
the  inscription,  194;  his  greatness, 
195;  his  Faerie  Queene,  195-213;  his 
sensitiveness  to  beauty,  210;  his 
influence,  212;  variety  of  his  excel- 
lences, 213;  cf.  6,  15,  79,  86,  134, 
214,  258,  262,  263,  279,  283,  308. 
Spenser,  Edmund,  Works: 

Amoretti,  82;    indebtedness  to  for- 
eign poets,  183-184. 
Astrophel,  175. 
Colin  Clouts  come  home  againe,  178, 

182. 
Complaints,  182. 
English  Poet,  The,\QQ. 
Epithalamion,  185;  its  lyrical  pow- 
ers, 186. 
Faerie  Queene,  167;  books  i.-iii. 
published,  178;  its  reception,  179; 
its  advance  on  The  Shepheards 
Calender,  179;  indebtedness  to 
earlier  models,  179;  its  purpose, 
179;  books  iv.-vi.,  186;  its  ampli- 
tude of  scale,  195;  its  assimilative 
power,  196;  its  moral  teaching, 
197;  its  indebtedness  to  Plato, 
198;  the  Knights  of  the  Virtues, 
199;  its  aflinity  with  chivalric 
romance,  200;  Macaulay's  charge 
of  tediousness,  200;  the  Queen 
and  Prince  Arthur,  200;  its  want 
of  homogeneity,  201 ;  its  allegorical 
intention,  202;  comparison  with 
Bunyan's  allegory,  202;  influence 
of  the  age,  203;  his  references  to 
contemporaries,203-204;  his  refer- 


336 


GREAT    ENGLISHMEN 


ences  to  contemporary  ideals  and 
prejudices,  205;  the  poetic  style, 
206;  the  Spenserian  stanza,  207; 
criticisms  by  Dr.  Johnson  and 
Horace  Walpole,  207;  the  flow  of 
the  verse,  207;  carelessness  of 
rhyme,  208;  the  vocabulary,  209; 
the  debt  to  Chaucer,  209;  sensi- 
tiveness to  beauty,  209;  its  influ- 
ence, 212;  use  of  law  terms,  263; 
cf.  283. 

Ireland,  A  View  of  the  Present  State 
of:  its  narrowness  of  temper,  188; 
his  prejudice  against  the  Irish, 
189;  his  appreciation  of  the  good 
quahties  of  the  Irish,  189;  his 
admiration  for  the  native  poetry, 
189;  the  natural  beauty  of  Ire- 
land, 190. 

Muiopotmos,  182. 

Prosopo'poia,  or  Mother  Hubherds 
Tale,  181. 

Prothalamion,  187. 

Ruines  of  Time,  The,  166,  182. 

Shepheards  Calender,  166  seq.;  its 
foreign  models,  167;  its  eulogy  of 
Chaucer,  168;  inscribed  anony- 
mously to  Sir  PhiUp  Sidney,  169; 
Edward  Kirke's  criticism,  169; 
its  topics,  170;  its  true  value,  171; 
its  metre  and  language,  171;  its 
place  in  English  poetry,  171; 
Drayton's  criticism,  172;  cf.  86, 
179,  283. 

Virgil's  Gnat,  172. 
Stapfer,  M.  Paul,  his  Shakspeare  and 

Classical  Antiquity,  285. 
Stebbing,   IVIr.   William,   his  Life  of 

Ralegh,  116. 
Stephens,  or  fitienne,  Henri,  75. 
Stratford-on-Avon,  257,  292. 
Stuart,  Arabella,  144. 
Surrey,  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of,  79; 

commended  by  Sidney,  94. 
Symonds,  J.  A.,  Renaissance  in  Italy,  1. 


Tacitus,  97. 

Tarleton,  Richard,  90. 

Tasso,  73,  179,  184,  196,  310  n.,  318. 

Tennyson,  57,  157,  289. 

Terence,  292. 

Thenot,  168. 

Theocritus,  98,  167,  170,  196. 

Theseus,  301. 

Thomson,  James,  213. 

Tintoretto,  73. 

Tityrus,  168. 

Todd,  Henry  John,  his  edition  of 
Spenser,  155. 

Tottel's  Songes  and  Sonnettes,  245  n. 

Triamond,  199. 

Trmidad,  137. 

Troy,  301. 

Tyndale,  William,  attacked  by  More, 
47;  his  version  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, 47,  48. 

Tyrone,  Hugh  O'Neill,  2nd  Earl  of, 
191. 

Ulysses,  301. 

Underbill,  Sir  Thomas,  229. 
United  States,  255. 
Utopia,  see  sub  More,  Sir  Thomas, 
Works. 

Valerius  Terminus,  by  Bacon,  247  n. 

Venezuela,  137. 

Venice,  Sidney  at,  73. 

Veronese,  Paul,  73. 

Verulam  House,  229. 

Verulamium,  232. 

Vespucci,  Amerigo,  29. 

Vienna,  Sidney  at,  73,  83. 

Villiers,  George,  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, 148. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  5,  6. 

Virgil,  98,  179,  195,  196,  214,  277; 
Eclogues,  168;  Gnat,  172;  Mneid, 
195;  referred  to  by  Shakespeare, 
302. 

Virginia,  128,  205. 


INDEX 


337 


W.\LPOLE,  Horace,  208. 

Walsingham,  Frances,  105. 

Sir  Francis,  71,  84, 105. 

Wanv-ick,  Ambrose  Dudley,  Earl  of, 
105, 182. 

Waterford,  126. 

Watson,  Thomas,  79. 

Weames,  IVIrs.  A.,  102  n. 

Webster,  John,  262,  282. 

Wechel,  Andrew,  printer  in  Frank- 
fort, 72. 

Weever,  John,  192  n. 

Westminster  Abbey,  51,  192  seq.,  279. 

Westwood,  Master,  139. 

Whitehall,  269. 

William,  Prince  of  Orange,  83;  his 
death.  108. 


Witherborne,  Dr.,  237  n. 

Wolsey,  Thomas,  Cardinal,  18,  20,  27; 

his  good  otiices  for  More,  36,  39; 

deprived   of   Lord    Chancellorship, 

39. 
Worcester,     Edward     Somerset,     4th 

Earl  of,  187. 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry,  238,  245  n. 
Wright,    Dr.    Aldis,    his    edition    of 

Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning, 

214. 
Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas,  79. 

York  House  in  Strand,  217. 
Youghal,  126. 

ZUTPHEN,  110. 


